


Mors Tua, Vita Mea

by ElysianVirago



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A+ parenting all around, Aftermath of Torture, BAMF Hermione, BAMF Hermione Granger, Black Hermione, Black Hermione Granger, EWE, F/M, Gen, Hermione Granger Bashing, Hermione Granger-centric, Hermione has PTSD, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Manipulative Hermione Granger, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Minor Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald, Minor Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley, Misguided Albus Dumbledore, Morally Grey Hermione Granger, Obsessive Behavior, Obsessive Tom Riddle, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, POC Hermione, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Hermione Granger, Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Slow-ish burn, Teenage Tom Riddle, Time Travel AU, kind of, or at least the symptoms of it, there will be smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:02:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 37,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25624078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElysianVirago/pseuds/ElysianVirago
Summary: Hermione finds herself obsessed with one thing after the war: what happened to Tom Riddle? Her endeavors to answer that question end up leading her to places she never thought she would go. Time Travel AU. EWE.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Abraxas Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 27
Kudos: 145





	1. The Not-So Golden Girl

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of my work on FF.net, but I will be editing it a lot and attempting to improve upon my work before. I really hope that you all like it and have as much fun with this pairing as I do.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is struggling to adjust to post-war life, but Hermione has found a particularly troublesome way of coping.

> "When I had all the answers, the questions changed." - Paulo Coehlo

It was half-past four, and Hermione Granger found herself awake - a common occurrence these days. She didn't sleep much anymore, and when she did sleep, it wasn't for very long. No matter how much Sleeping Drought she took, she was almost always awake in two hours. On nights when she was lucky, she might manage three, but those nights were few and far between as her tolerance to the purple potion grew. Somehow the lack of sleep seemed to be the least of Hermione's problems as of late. Of course, she was not alone – as Harry always loved to remind her – each member of the Golden Trio had their own difficulties adjusting to peacetime, but Hermione was the only one who felt as though nothing had changed. She didn't know if it was because she was the only one of the trio who carried the scars of her torture with her every day or if it was because she still saw the discrimination against muggleborns although it wasn't as outright as it had been before. To make matters worse, Hermione had an obsessive disposition, and there was nothing else of importance left to stop her from losing herself to her obsession.

Professor McGonagall had asked the Golden Trio if they would be returning to complete their seventh year, but they had all declined. It was no surprise to anyone that Harry and Ron had rejected her offer. Harry proposed to Ginny the day after all the funerals were done, and he had already accepted a position as an auror. He wouldn't rest until the remaining Death Eaters were rotting in Azkaban. Ron did as he had most of his life and attempted to follow in Harry's footsteps. School was never Ron's forte, and as soon as Harry declined to return to Hogwarts, Ron promptly did so as well. Ron wasn't entirely sure if the life of an auror was for him, but when he realized that majority of the Death Eaters were firmly in hiding or had died during the war, it made his decision much easier. When Harry asked Ron and his brothers for permission to marry Ginny, a seed firmly planted itself in Ron's mind that he must ask Hermione. She was gentle when she rejected him, explaining that she wouldn't be able to dedicate the proper energy to a relationship when she was still struggling to heal from the horrors of the war. In truth, it took every bit of her control not to curse him at that very moment.

"Of course," He had told her with red cheeks and downtrodden eyes. "We all need some time to heal after this… I just want you to know that I'm always here for you, Hermione."

Hermione gave him a curt nod, placing the ring back in his hand. While she would vehemently fight for her family, friends, or anyone else that she deemed worthy of defense – which constituted every man and beast alike – she had never been good with expressing her own feelings and defending them to others. The war had made it even harder for Hermione to burden someone else with her own problems. She was exhausted after being the strong, sane, stable one for so long. Hermione knew that eventually she would have to give in to her base desires to release all of her rage and pain on someone else. This would be especially true if she was forced to stay around anyone for too long. She hated to admit it, but Ron would probably be the worst person for her to be around now because she had not forgiven him. They say that time heals all wounds, but the more time passed the more she stewed on how Ron had left her and Harry, and the angrier she became. It didn't help that he proposed to her because his sister and best friend were getting married, so he felt like he must too and he picked her because they had kissed once during the battle, a kiss which he had initiated and she had only allowed because she was so taken aback by the fact that he was doing it? Marrying Ron was not an option, even dating him was going to be a stretch.

"I love you. I will always love you and that means that I will wait for you – no matter how long it takes."

Ron had promised her that he would wait. He told the entire world that he tried to hold out for her, but he didn't think that she would ever be ready. Ron said this during every interview and the interviews seemed to be countless. Ron had assumed the role of the golden boy and spokesperson of the Golden Trio as Harry retreated into the background and Hermione attempted to hide from the world. Ron promised he would wait for her over and over again while he fucked every available witch in London and even a few taken ones. He played the role of a lovelorn war hero perfectly and the entire world pitied him and began rejecting her.

Hermione was used to being hated. She was hated by most purebloods for being born with magic. The racists at Hogwarts hated her because she was smarter than them, she was better than them. When puberty began to hit, the rest of the shallow female population began hating her because she was becoming prettier than they were. The deep-set hatred became the clearest to Hermione when Krum asked her to the Yule ball. After that, it wasn't just most of the female population of Hogwarts, but most of the female population of the entire wizarding community that began to despise her because she was just a silly, little mudblood girl who had already stolen their magic and was now attempting to steal their men – first with Krum and then with the savior himself Harry Potter. It didn't matter how unfounded any of the Prophet's accusations against her were, people believed them because they created a justification for their disdain that was unable to be traced back to racism and discrimination. She was lauded as the most brilliant witch of her age after she had helped win the war, but the praise was short-lived when Ron began exploiting her rejection for sympathy. After she had rejected Witch Weekly's "Most Eligible Bachelor" supposedly shattering his heart in the process, she became the villain once again.

Hermione couldn't find the energy to care though. She had turned into a recluse after the war. She refused a job at the broken ministry and, to everyone's surprise, decided not to return to Hogwarts. Only a select number of people had actually spoken with Hermione since the war, and she had made one public appearance beside the series of funerals and that was to testify at the Malfoys' hearings. Her testimony took less than an hour and required her to properly interact with only three people while all the others sat and watched. She hadn't even attended the awards ceremony where she, Harry, and Ron would all be given the Order of Merlin First Class, instead opting to fake a particularly nasty illness the day of the ceremony. After this stunt and a few missed Sunday dinners at the Burrow, Harry nearly forced Hermione to stay with him at Grimmauld Place.

"We've got a lot of extra room and you could stay for free" turned into "Hermione, I just can't seem to break any of these wards. It would be really great if you could come help, Bill says that they are some pretty rare blood wards" and when the idea of breaking through ancient wards didn't lure her in, Harry finally told her that she would not be allowed to read any of the books from the library if she did not come to stay with him. Hermione, exhausted after all his pestering, decided to move in with the condition that when she finished the renovations she would be gone. As an additional bonus, she would be added to the apparition wards (and kept on them even after she moved out) so she could have access to the Black family's extensive library anytime she pleased. It took her thirteen days to finish the renovation and an extra twelve to convince Harry that she would be fine in her own flat so that way he would stop adding onto that godforsaken to-do list.

After she moved out, Hermione found herself researching in the Black's library every day to stop Harry from randomly apparating to her home unannounced "just to check-in." She was entirely convinced that she was picked to be Ginny's Maid of Honor because Harry wanted to keep a closer eye on her and make her interact with a few more people. Hermione couldn't manage to say no to him because if she did then she would have to explain what was taking up all her time. She knew that Harry would not take her newest research project that well. When anyone mentioned Voldemort or the war, Harry miraculously forgot he had an urgent meeting to attend or that he had made reservations with Ginny that he was dreadfully late for – even if it was four o'clock in the afternoon. Harry would hate to find out that his best friend, a woman who he thought of as a sister, was spending her days researching his dear, old friend Tom.

It wasn't in Hermione's best interest to disclose her current research to anyone because most, if not all of them, would try to dissuade her from pursuing this, but it wasn't in her nature to leave questions unanswered. What happened to Tom Riddle Jr. was the greatest question of her generation that everyone else was content to ignore. Hermione, on the other hand, was determined to answer it. She had to know because Tom Riddle was so stunningly similar to both her and Harry. So why did Tom turn out so differently from the two them? It was a question that no one dared to answer. Even though Tom and Harry's similarities had been widely published after Voldemort's fall, no one brought up why they had ended up so dramatically different. Much like how no one, other than Hermione herself, seemed to have noticed the connection between the young mudblood and the Dark Lord. Hermione may not have been an orphan, but she did grow up without parents and, before Hogwarts, without any friends. 

Robert and Jean Granger had been consumed by their work for Hermione's entire life. She had a nanny from the moment she was weaned off her mother's breast until she was six-years-old and vehemently insisted to her parents that she no longer needed one. Her argument was simple – she knew how to do all the things her nanny tried to do for her, and her parents found they agreed. The other children at school teased her for her buck-teeth and called her a swot. None of them wanted to talk to her unless they needed her help with an assignment or to cheat on a test. She had no interest in playing outside or fiddling around with inanimate dolls when she could lose herself in a novel or find answers to a question that she was the only one asking.

When she found out she was a witch, all the muggle fairytales she read came into question. If witches were real, did that mean werewolves were too? Vampires? Dragons? Professor McGonagall tried to answer her questions, but the old woman didn't have the thoroughness that Hermione would have liked. It wasn't enough to know that vampires existed, she needed to know if they were friendly to witches. If not, then she needed to know how to kill them. She wanted to know how vampires were created. Were they bitten? Did they reproduce like any other species? Was it some sort of miraculous combination of both? From each question came a series of follow-up questions and the professor had neither the knowledge nor the patience to answer them all. That was where the books came in.

Upon her first visit to Diagon Alley, Hermione found herself begging Professor McGonagall to allow her more time in Flourish and Blotts. She was near desolate to find her request had not been granted. Instead of wallowing in her sorrow, Hermione spent her time memorizing her textbooks and practicing each and every incantation in the books she did have. She read _Hogwarts: A History_ three times before her first year and every time she learned a new wizarding reference or piece of history, she read it once more to see if there was anything that she didn't fully understand the first time around. She found her sanctuary in the Hogwarts library because there were so many questions that could be answered there. She spent most of her Hogwarts career checking out the maximum number of books allowed and then taking them down to the Black Lake where she would practice each spell until she could do it ten times without any error. When she and the boys went on the run, she began the same routine but instead practicing the spells silently. After her wand was stolen during the war, she created a new routine where she practiced most spells silently and wandlessly. She even took the time to learn about how to cast various "grey" magic and a few different dark spells when she wasn't researching Tom.

Tom, from her reading, seemed to have the same obsessive nature as she had. He was raised without knowing anything about his heritage and spent his early years learning about as many muggle topics as possible. After he learned he was a wizard, he took the same mentality to learning about the Wizarding World. When Tom arrived at Hogwarts, even though he was sorted into Slytherin, he may as well have been just another mudblood. Yet, he was unlike any of the other muggleborns of his time. He perfected every spell before it was taught in class, he was never once caught out of line, he became a prefect and then Head Boy. He, like Hermione, didn't seem to have any friends until several months into his first year, and even then, unlike Hermione, he never forged a true bond with any of them. Tom was the perfect student who must have mastered hiding his true intentions.

From what she had seen in Dumbledore's pensieve, he always seemed to believe that there was a darkness to Tom. The more she researched, the more Hermione began to think that was just another justification for how Dumbledore had treated him, and that belief made it far easier to convince the Order of the Phoenix that Tom was a beast who should be slaughtered on sight. None of this sat right with Hermione. No child is born evil, they are made that way. Hermione had seen her fair share of discrimination before the war began and most of that was after Voldemort's fall when blood purists were supposed to be in hiding. She couldn't imagine how hard it must have been for Tom over fifty years ago when he was in Slytherin and Grindelwald was on the rise. While all of this was concerning, Hermione found she could understand how this may have twisted Tom's views. What truly troubled her, what she spent hundreds of hours trying to determine, was how Tom had turned into the beast she had seen during the Battle of Hogwarts.

Tom hadn't just been the perfect student – he had been the perfect specimen with a tall, muscular figure, impeccable skin, a sinful smile, and dark, wavy hair that she would have longed to run her fingers through. The pictures Hermione saw of Tom Riddle through the years made it clear that he had never even come close to being deemed as unattractive. As a child, he was quite adorable and he didn't have an awkward phase where he had to grow into his features, they grew with him. Tom Riddle was the picture of perfection throughout his entire life. It wasn't clear to her when his looks faded. It may have been as he created more horcruxes or it could have been a side effect of living so long as an incorporeal being – no one who was willing to talk to her had been with him long enough to explain when his skin had turned white, his eyes red, or how he had lost his nose. The closest that she had gotten was the information she discovered during her weekly teas with Narcissa and even then Narcissa had barely interacted with him before he went incorporeal. 

No one was able to tell her when he descended into madness either, but her research was able to shed a bit of light on this situation. From the pattern of his attacks and the changes in his recruitment, she assumed that his mind slowly began to fade sometime in the early seventies, and by the time of the prophecy he must have succumbed to the paranoia. She knew from her research and personal experience that when Tom was resurrected, any semblance of the man he was before was gone. All that remained was a shell whose sole motivation was vengeance and who was furious when he was unable to achieve it.

Hermione loved Harry, but she knew that even she could have killed him during their time at Hogwarts. If Voldemort would have given up on the idiotic idea that he had to be the one to kill Harry Potter then the man that she had come to love as a brother would have been dead long, long ago. Blood wards can't protect someone against everything. If Tom had been in control, then he would have attempted to find a loophole whether that be breaking the wards themselves or simply attacking Harry when he inevitably left them. Voldemort did not even try – a small part of her thought that Voldemort didn't really know where Harry lived even though that information was repeatedly on record. Tom had found Ravenclaw's lost diadem before he turned thirty and he had made his first horcrux when he was sixteen. His magical knowledge and might were unquestioned, so in any sane world, a blood ward should have never stopped him. Hell, Hermione had discovered how to create and destroy a blood ward accidentally, which added another layer to one of the various supporting questions she found: How much had Tom's madness corrupted his brilliance?

After Hermione had worked her way through every published book about Voldemort, every diary from people who had met him in the past, and every pensieve memory of him the ministry had on record she realized that any publicly available information about the infamous Lord Voldemort was entirely lacking. She had to go speak with Albus Dumbledore in person. She needed to know what caused Tom Riddle to lose his mind.

When Hermione approached Dumbledore's portrait her nerves threatened to get the better of her, but her desire for answers won out. Before the portrait could manage to greet her properly, Hermione found words rushing out of her mouth.

"Why did you hate Tom Riddle?"

* * *

Dumbledore spent most of his time contemplating life as a portrait. He knew that he wasn't a real person, that none of these memories were actually his, but somehow, they all felt so real. He was simply a magical painting with an implanted consciousness that had been taken from his – could it even be called his? – original form at some point in time before its death. It was strange to think that these false memories connected to him to so many people that appeared in Minerva's office and that, even though he was no longer living, he was still sentient. He was somehow able to create new memories that would never be taken from him and, if the other portraits were anything to go by, these memories would last for lifetimes. He would have decades where he watched the people he knew in his past life grow old and eventually die. When they died, he wouldn't have anywhere as near as many visitors, though they seemed few and far between already, and he would just become another portrait babbling to himself about times long forgotten. He would have nothing but his thoughts then; although since he had been put into this form, he had found that there was more time to think without any sort of interaction than he ever had before.

Minerva kept herself busy restoring Hogwarts which had been reduced to ruin in a war that neither version of him had been present for. The only time she seemed to be in her office was when she hosted formal meetings and, much to his disdain, he was expected to be seen not heard during most, if not all, of those. The two of them had a few, brief conversations where he had made comments about what she was mumbling to herself, but those conversations never lasted long because the Scottish woman found Dumbledore far more infuriating in portrait form. On the rare occasion when a researcher sought him out to discuss his work on dragon's blood or the Deathly Hallows, he relished in the occasion to speak to someone without having to hold his tongue for once and he would be lying if he didn't admit that he savored the opportunity to talk to anyone at all.

It was a particular pleasure to see Hermione Granger walk through the door. Her hands were shaking slightly, but he noticed the same steely determination he had seen in her eyes so many times before. He could tell that this wasn't going to be a simple "how do you do" visit and that thrilled him. Those conversations were terribly boring, and Ms. Granger looked anything but boring right now. She was sporting several new scars since he had seen her last and the distinct coloring – whether it be the deep purple of some, the lack of color entirely in others, and the especially interesting red hue peeking out from underneath her wand holster on her wrist – clued him into the dark magic or dark objects that had created them.

He found himself wondering what exactly had happened to Ms. Granger since he had died. The scars she had indicated that there were some very interesting stories she could tell and he was positive that she would offer a view on the war he hadn't heard yet. Ms. Granger always had a peculiar way of looking at things, as evidenced by her S.P.E.W. campaign, and she made a point of taking her time to thoroughly research whatever position she took and then expand upon it even as a young girl. He couldn't fathom how well-read she must be now. If he had to wager, Dumbledore was sure that Ms. Granger sought him out because she had exhausted all of the books she could find and she needed some sort of information. He prided himself on being a well-read, experienced wizard so there were any number of things that she could be coming to him for and he thought that he was prepared for all of them. He was sure that he would get a decent conversation, some sort of praise of his extensive knowledge or insightful comments, and maybe even a promise to visit again. After all that was how most of the conversations he had went, but as soon as Hermione spoke he realized that this would be different. 

"Why did you hate Tom Riddle?"

There was no venom to her voice, but there was an edge to it which Dumbledore didn't think he had heard her use before. The smile on his face didn't fade, but Hermione swore that the portrait's eyes began to twinkle as Dumbledore seemed to be holding back a chuckle.

"I never hated Tom, Hermione. I just saw what he was before anyone else did. I could feel the darkness within him."

Hermione's eyes turned dark and Dumbledore couldn't help but notice how her entire body seemed to be charged with magic at that very moment.

"You could have saved him. You were just too overwhelmed by your old fuckbuddy trying to take over the world that you decided not to. When Grindelwald was finally gone you convinced yourself that Tom couldn't have been saved just to save yourself the guilt. He was a fucking child. You could have led him away from the dark, but you chose not to, _Professor_." She sneered the last word, mocking the title he held for so long.

Throughout her speech, the air seemed to be crackling around her and Dumbledore was beginning to think that he may have underestimated Harry's studious, little muggleborn friend. She had somehow discovered his relationship with Gellert which he had worked so hard to hide and she had hit the nail on the head with what happened with Tom – not that he would admit that to anyone else, he hadn't admitted it to himself when he was alive.

"Hermione, dear, I'm not sure what you've heard but Tom had always been a disturbed boy. He was unable to love because of the Amortentia that his mother used on his father and that twisted his mind."

Dumbledore would not concede that he had failed to this girl, no matter what she claimed she had known. If he wanted to make eternity as a portrait bearable then he had to believe the lies that he had told for so many years, justifying all of the losses in the wars, he could not give in to the doubts that had crept into the back of his mind. He would go mad if he allowed himself to do that.

Hermione shook her head firmly before she spoke, "That's not quite true professor. See I've been researching and there is no way that a potion administered Tom's father, no matter how strong, would have affected his sperm enough to permanently change Tom's disposition. The only cases where Amortentia seems to have had a permanent effect on the child has been when the potion was repeatedly given to the mother throughout the course of the pregnancy and even then there are some debates about whether the potion actually affected the fetus' physiology or if it was the environment that they grew up in which changed their perspective on love. Tom Riddle was perfectly capable of love throughout his childhood and into his adult life until after the horcruxes tore his soul beyond recognition. His path could have been easily prevented had any adult in his life shown some semblance of care."

Dumbledore's smile had faded at this point and the portrait's eyes began to narrow, he was beginning to regret his initial excitement at Hermione's new take on the war. She could think about things differently just as long as she didn't blame him.

"See, I have this theory that you played a pretty large role in turning him into a Dark Lord. You were, as far as I can see, the most powerful wizard that Tom had ever been exposed to and you were even the one to introduce him to the Wizarding World. If you would have taken him under your wing instead of hating him because he reminded you of a younger version of your ex, then maybe he wouldn't have tried to follow in Grindelwald's footsteps. Tom was always destined to be powerful, but he wasn't always destined to be evil. He learned how to inspire devotion from a young age and he quickly realized that devotion was tied to power. He became the most vicious and powerful wizard of the century because no one showed him any other way. He had to make a name for himself in Slytherin if he didn't want to be bullied by his own house for his assumed blood status. Because you never gave him the time of day, he began to resent you and found a different idol in Salazar himself. Imagine how Tom must have felt when he discovered that he was the last heir and that no one thought to mention it. He bought into Salazar's teachings because, the way he saw it, all his power came from Salazar.

"It was easy for him to hate muggles when he spent his life growing up surrounded by the worst war known to man and he found out his father was alive and had abandoned him. Tom realized that the fact he was Slytherin's heir solidified his position in his group of purebloods because now they didn't just fear him, they believed in him – in his name and in his mission. Tom saw how Grindelwald had achieved love, devotion, and power: all of the things he had ever dreamed of and after you had defeated Gellert, he saw the power vacuum that created. So, Tom recreated Grindelwald's plan, determined to learn from his mistakes. He had everything in line, but there was just one thing that stopped him – his fear of death. He was so terrified of dying, like so many others had around him, that he decided to fracture his soul, not realizing that every time he did that he was fracturing his mind as well. Something I'd wager that you could have explained to him if you hadn't alienated and targeted him from the start. He was a poor, orphan boy who sought attention any way he could get it. When he realized that he couldn't be loved by you, someone like him, by the members of his own house, and finally by his own father – he decided that it was better to be feared than to be forgotten."

"If you know all of this my dear, then why are you here talking to me?"

Dumbledore was not used to being put in his place and he had never had it done to him by one who was quite so young. To say that he was put out would be a vast understatement, yet he had no way to leave the room without admitting defeat and he had never been very good at that.

"Why did he go mad? When did he go mad? I've spent hours pouring over books and journals. I've watched and re-watched every memory of him, but I can't tell what finally made him lose it. I think you may know."

Dumbledore's smile returned because now they were at the root of the problem. The girl needed information from him which meant that the power was once again in his hands. Yet, he stayed silent watching her anger peak.

"Was it the horcruxes? I think that those might have been the cause, but also he seemed to be pretty sane even after making his first four so that might not be the case. Was it the prolonged exposure to all sorts of dark magic?" She began rattling off questions, voicing her theories, and searching for confirmation but Dumbledore never answered, never nodded, never did anything except for smile at her with that fucking twinkle in his eye and, for the first time since the war had ended, Hermione's tempered flared and Dumbledore's portrait went up in flames.

If anyone else had been watching, they would have thought it was a burst of accidental magic that had caused the destruction of the former headmaster, but Hermione knew it was anything but an accident. She had flicked her wrist just so and then the _Fiendfyre_ began to spread. She couldn't find it in herself to care about how she would explain any of this to McGonagall or anyone else for that matter. The old coot had manipulated her and so many others before her, even as a portrait he refused to give anyone any information of real value and that made him a danger to anyone else he might come into contact with.

Hermione may not have gotten what she wanted from Dumbledore, but she was convinced that she knew enough to go on with her plan. If Dumbledore was unwilling to tell her about what caused Tom's madness, then there was no way in hell that he would give her any information about the ritual she was going to perform. Dumbledore was just another liability and if the ritual was to go according to plan then that couldn't be allowed.


	2. The Chosen One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione deals with the aftermath of her decisions.

> "Even death has a heart." - Markus Zusak

This was not a good idea. It was a god-awful idea that she had forced herself into by losing her temper on that old coot, but it was the only option she had left. Hermione steeled herself as she looked down at her first friend, her only real friend, and prepared to ask him to do something that might kill her. She was going to lie to him, he wouldn't agree to it if she didn't, and she would feel awful doing it. Hermione knew as soon as she asked Harry to do this, she would be betraying the only person she had ever loved. Yet, if she succeeded, then she would be saving her best friend, her brother, from a lifetime of pain, misery, and unnecessary sacrifice.

Hermione softened her expression, allowed some of the nerves she was already feeling to shine through, and spoke, "Harry," His bright green eyes snapped up lighting up the room and being rivaled only by his smile as he recognized that Hermione had come to visit him without any nagging for the first time since the Battle of Hogwarts. "I was wondering if maybe you would be willing to help me out with some of my research?"

Harry shook his head and laughed a bit, "' Mione, you know that I'm quite shit at research. I can barely read a full chapter before my eyes glaze over. Are you sure that I'm the one you want to ask for help with that?"

"It isn't that type of research," She paused for a moment, trying to determine the best way to present this. "It's more of a ritual that I would need your help with."

"What kind of a ritual are we talking about here, Hermione? Nothing dark, I hope," She could tell that Harry was attempting to hide the uneasiness that was slipping into his tone. "I am an auror and all now, so I've got to uphold the law." He laughed, playing off his concern as a joke, but it just fell flat.

Hermione knew that she was taking the ultimate risk by asking Harry to do this. If he rejected her, then he would probably stop any other viable participant from helping her either, but Harry was also the person who would ask the least questions. She could try to use her newfound relationship with the Malfoys to her advantage, but Draco and Narcissa were Slytherins through and through – they would not do anything that they didn't know the full implications of first.

"No, no, it's nothing dark," She saw Harry's body visibly relax as she told him her first lie of the night. "I just found this adoption ritual that I think could have some major effects on the Wizarding World if I'm allowed to complete my research on it."

Harry seemed intrigued but not entirely convinced. If nothing else, she knew that she had his full attention. Bright eyes stared back up at her as his whole body leaned forward, wordlessly asking her to continue.

"I've seen the ritual mentioned in a few different books in the Black Library. I think that the Blacks have used it a few times before to keep their line from dying out. It hasn't been used in centuries, I would guess, but I think it could save a lot of the ancient families like the Rowles, Mulcibers, and Lestranges that are about to die out. I just don't feel comfortable letting everyone know about it just yet because it has been so long since it's been used. I want to test it out beforehand."

Hermione saw Harry opening up his mouth, and she felt the rest of her speech come rushing to her lips to prevent any interruptions. "Now Harry, before you try to say anything about me getting hurt, it isn't about that. I haven't seen any mention of major side-effects in any of the books. I just need to experience how the ritual works myself, so I can properly explain it. I need to know how the magic is passed on from one to another or, rather, how the ritual changes the magic of the adoptee… It just wouldn't be conducive to my research to attempt the spell on the children that it may help, but who don't know how to interpret their magic yet."

Harry didn't understand how an idea could be so outlandish yet make so much sense at the same time. Yes, this was an untested ritual that he had a lot of concerns about completing, but it also seemed like a natural progression. Hermione was family. She had been family since he saved her from that troll, and she would always be a part of his life. If this ritual worked the way that Hermione said it would, he would just be acknowledging to the world that their bond couldn't be broken.

"How exactly would all of this work? If the ritual hasn't been used in centuries, then there is probably a reason why right? I don't want to hurt you, and I don't feel comfortable letting you try out something that puts you in harm's way."

Hermione bit down on her lip softly, she could tell from Harry's tone that he would give in eventually, but she knew that it would take more lies to do it. She couldn't tell him that this spell had definitely been used on muggle children, and it killed the ones who weren't strong enough to maintain a magical core. She also couldn't tell him that she didn't know how this spell would interact with someone who already had magic, especially fully developed magic at that. No, she had to make this look good to him because if the rest of her plan was going to work, she needed a name for herself, and Harry gave that to her.

Harry may not be a pureblood, but he is the heir to many noble houses. Houses that would draw the attention of Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald, houses that would give Tom the sense of belonging that wasn't inherently tied to hating muggles, and, most importantly, houses that had full vaults that she would be able to lay claim to because the Potters and all of the other families that Harry descended from would have long forgotten they were entitled to them.

"I know that it seems like a lot, but it's really not, and I promise that I won't get hurt." Hermione forced a smile onto her face as she blatantly lied to her friend for the second time that night. "You remember that muggle book I had you read? Huck-Finn," Harry rolled his eyes but nodded. "It's just like that if I'm honest. We cut our hands, join them together, and you say a spell, then it's all over." Her third lie of the night.

Harry ran his hands through his hair, glanced at the ground for a moment, and turned his gaze back to Hermione.

"It could help people?"

Hermione let out a brief sigh of relief. Now she was positive that Harry was going to do it.

"You can't begin to comprehend how many people this could save," Hermione didn't have to lie about that much.

"You won't get hurt?"

Hermione nodded quickly and repeated her lie from earlier, "Nope. I'll just sleep for a little while, and then I'll be back to normal."

"It's like Huck-Finn?"

"The ritual is so simple that we could do it right now."

Harry sighed at that, seeing the excitement in Hermione's eyes.

"You want to do it now, don't you?"

For the first time since the war, Harry saw a real smile on Hermione's face as she enthusiastically nodded at him. Harry couldn't help the smile that appeared on his own face as he saw the sheer joy Hermione had at the prospect of this.

"You've always been my sister, you know, but now I guess we'll just be making it a reality."

Hermione nodded once more, knowing that it would ruin the mood if she explained that the adoption might technically make him her father – the reading wasn't really clear about the relationship that formed after. She also knew that wouldn't be around long enough afterward for him to question her about their relationship or even to allow herself to try and figure out that bit either. Hermione couldn't dwell on that though, she had to make sure that they got this right. Everything that she planned revolved around this ritual being executed correctly.

"Alright, Hermione, what's the spell?"

" _Sangioficus concorporo_ ," Hermione articulated the words clearly and waited for Harry to repeat them before continuing. "We will both cut our hands, and as we join them together, you say the spell while swirling your wand like so."

Harry watched her movements, mimicked the motion, and Hermione nodded in approval, praising Harry's natural ability at practical magic. After she was sure that he had the spell and the motion down, she summoned a knife from the kitchen and quickly sliced her palm open. She passed the knife to Harry, and he did the same.

"Ready, brother?"

Harry smiled and sliced his hand before holding it up to her.

"Ready."

Their hands joined together as Harry loudly called out " _Sangioficus concorporo"_ and suddenly, a golden light shone through Hermione's skin. Her body felt as though it was being torn apart from the inside out as her and Harry's magic began a vicious battle. Luckily, Harry had collapsed from the sheer amount of magic the spell had pulled from his core so he couldn't hear Hermione's screams. The battle within her felt never-ending as the foreign magics fought for her own for dominance, and her core attempted to grow enough to appease the warring sets. All the while, Hermione screamed and writhed on the floor until the exhaustion overrode any pain she felt, and then she collapsed.

* * *

Hermione's entire body was buzzing when she woke up. She was used to feeling her magic crackling around her when she was upset, but this was different – her magic felt different. It wasn't wrong per se, just strange. Instead of the warmth she usually felt when calm like embers from a fire, there was a roaring flame inside of her. She felt more powerful than she ever had before, but she was on edge. The ancient tome in the Black Library stated that there was a chance of rejection if the child was not strong enough for a new magical, but that didn't worry her. She wasn’t scared of death, she hadn’t been since Bellatrix carved into her arm – at that point, she would have preferred death. Hermione was scared that the line about how the characteristics of the family magic would be passed on as well would be true. Hermione already had a temper, but from the way she felt right now and the way that Harry was wired, she knew that she could be downright explosive.

The combination of the Black magic, which tended towards streaks of madness, and the Potter magic, whose protective nature led to an increase in magic whenever anyone the user loved was threatened, could be deadly. She had seen how the combination led Harry to hell and back more than once, but now she knew Harry's magic was tempered by the magic he inherited from his mother. Lily Potter’s magic was driven by love and healing, it was patient and had a subtle strength about it that didn't need all of the pomp and show the Potter magic or Black magic did. It felt stable and calm even in the midst of her own magic attacking the last of it, attempting to force it out.

The old pureblood literature was wrong. Muggleborns had the purest of magicks, a type of magic that was entirely their own, making it perfectly suited to its user’s core. This was a part of the reason why Lily's magic had held its own against the ancient magics in Harry's blood and balanced him out. Yet, Hermione could tell as soon as she awoke that her magic was not compatible with Lily's and refused to accept the invader’s presence in her body.

If Hermione wasn’t so focused on how the presence of the new magic felt within her, she would have realized that this was why when two muggleborns have children, that each child's magic leans entirely one way or another. Muggleborn magic is too pure, too powerful to stop the fight for dominance and that means one of their magics will be eliminated entirely in the fetus while the other survives. The ancient houses' magic is the most conducive to change. Old magic knew it needed new life forces to continue on and drew strength from everything around it. The new magic would amplify the old magic and they would settle into one another as a child's magical core developed.

Hermione's magical core did not have the luxury of a slow growth into the various magics that had been fused into her. Instead, her core had to grow as fast as it possibly could while four sets of fully developed magic attempted to assert their dominance. The ancient magic stayed together, preserving itself, waiting for one magic to assert its dominance over the other as the two forms of new magic began launching everything they had at one another.

Hermione's magic had clearly won out, she could feel its familiar caress under her skin attempting to calm her as she struggled to identify all of the changes that the ritual made to her magic. Lily's magic wasn't entirely gone, but it had been reduced to minuscule amounts. It was pushed to the absolute limit and only found the will to submit when it realized that Hermione's magic would swallow it whole. All of the magic within Hermione's body had begun to settle into its place, but now she had to learn how to control it.

" _Accio_ wand," Hermione commanded. It was the first spell she had ever learned windlessly and her wand was only a few feet away. This should be a simple task, an easy spell that let her grow more attuned to this new blend, yet her wand did not gracefully float into her hand and she was not able to work out the intricacies of her own magic right away. Her wand did begin making its way to her hand, but instead of slowing to a stop in her hand, it seemed to only pick up speed only stopping when it shattered against the wall behind her.

"Bloody hell," She swore as she stepped over Harry's body which was still resting on the floor. She had planned to levitate him to his bed and heal his hand with a simple spell, but with the way her magic was right now, it would do more harm than good. Hermione lifted a blanket from the couch and covered Harry with it. She ran to the kitchen and grabbed a small rag that she tied around his hand, covering the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding. The thought of leaving him a note crossed her mind, but that would take too much time. She didn't expect her magic to take as long as it did to find equilibrium and she had to leave before he awoke. Hermione left her brother with a gentle kiss on the forehead and no explanation.

* * *

Riddle Manor yearned for someone new to shelter. Long gone were the days where people would stop in awe at its beauty. Now, children would dare each other to get closer and closer to the untouched oak door. It seemed like a disgrace that the home that hosted dinner parties almost every night had been reduced to nothing more than a spectacle. Its last occupant, a mass murderer, who only chose to occupy the room where his first large murder took place. Countless more seemed to follow in the few months its new master chose to be there. The townspeople believed that the blood from the slaughter of the entire Riddle family had stained the drawing-room floor. It didn't. For all of the horrors Riddle House had seen, it was surprisingly clean of evidence of those crimes.

Dark magic may not leave a visible mark, but there was always a clear magical residue left behind and if enough dark magic was used in an area then even the muggles could feel it. That explained why they hung the crosses along the fence of the decrepit manor and refused to touch the land after so many years had passed. Hermione thought it was a bit humorous that the muggles in Little Hangleton were still so superstitious that they thought a few crosses would save them. Voldemort, no matter how much he looked it before the battle, was no evil spirit and would not be contained by tiny pieces of wood. She appreciated their effort, but it was entirely misplaced. Those muggles would have been far safer staying away from the manor. She hated to think of how many muggles might have accidentally triggered Voldemort's wards or been spotted by a few of the more twisted Death Eaters. Their fate wouldn't have been a good one, to say the least. She could feel the residual magic from the wards that had only partially faded when Voldemort died. His power was undeniable, even after death, the might of his magic surpassed the majority of the wizards and witches in Great Britain warning off any who might dare to enter and making this the perfect place for Hermione to hide.

No one would ever think that Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age, an outspoken muggleborn, and vehement warrior against everything that Voldemort stood for, was hiding out in the same building where Voldemort slaughtered his muggle family. Still, Hermione made sure that when she apparated she did so repeatedly around the United Kingdom before finally ending up about fifteen miles away from the manor where she caught a cab into the little town. Luckily, that portion of Hermione’s plan had gone off without a hitch. Apparating was the easiest thing that Hermione had tried since the ritual because apparating wasn't about power but focus and Hermione knew how to focus – natural occlumens typically did. She was terribly glad that she had decided to collect all of the ingredients for traveling back in time before the adoption ritual because it was going to take her a few days to become in tune with this new blend and she doubted that she would be able to cast a lasting disguise before then.

The manor was not only the perfect place to hide, but it was ideal for her to practice taming her magic. Because for all of the time the manor was left unattended and uncared for, it was surprisingly easy to transform into something functional. There was a lot of material to work with and a lot of rooms that she could practice in. Hermione would only be staying for a few days, but if she learned anything from being of the run for an entire year it was to maximize comfort with what you were given. Before the first night was over, the main level of the Riddle Manor was restored to its former glory and by the next morning, Hermione thought she was getting her magic back under control and she quickly finished off the rest of the house. She hated to admit it but she still felt as though her magic would fire off if she let her emotions get the better of her. Hermione tried to calm herself with the thought she had learned how to keep those in check long ago, but it was a weak platitude at best. Deep down Hermione knew that it was misled thought, potentially even an outright lie to herself, but the lie was a necessary one considering what she was about to do. She had no room for hesitation, she could possibly be facing anywhere from one to three of the four most powerful wizards of the last century. If there was any time Hermione needed confidence, it was now.

Hermione had always been a survivor, but it was her turn to become a savior. Her plan was simple: go back in time, adopt Tom, and then raise him in a home where he would be entirely loved and teach him how to direct his power towards good not evil. It wasn't a plan filled with glory or praise, but all of that was overrated. Hermione would live happily knowing that Voldemort wouldn't unintentionally kill off a third of the entire wizarding population in Great Britain with two gigantic wars. The trick was that there was no way of knowing if the ritual Hermione was using would work or if it would kill her. It was rumored that those who performed the ritual were tested by death himself. Hermione would like to say she didn't believe that, but before Harry had been revived she didn't believe in the Deathly Hallows either. She had seen far too much in this past year to discount any possibility.

The ritual itself was easy. All she needed was her blood, a thestral hair, and the winter solstice. Once she sliced her hand and wrapped the thestral hair in the wound under the light of the full moon on the longest night of the year then the old magicks were supposed to do the rest. The timing and location wouldn't be exact, but they should get her close to where she needed to be. The galleons tucked into her extendable bag would be enough to provide for the young family she planned to have and if somehow that wasn't enough, she would be able to lay claim to ancient vaults with untold riches. Others would say that Hermione's plan was a longshot, but she couldn't bring herself to murder a baby, and anytime after that would be too late. She didn't know when Tom's corruption took place and the longer she allowed him to live on his own, the less likely she would be to convince him to trust her, to love her like the mother he never had. Even if Tom was truly incapable of love, something Hermione very strongly disbelieved, she would love him and that would, hopefully, make all the difference.

* * *

Death didn't take the time to watch over very many people. There were too many who died each second for him to linger long, but he always had a knack for spotting the special ones. There were so many who teased him over the years, who faded in and out before deciding it wasn't time, they were always the most fun. It wasn't often that there were two of those people born in the last decade, much less the last generation, but wars seemed to breed greatness. Harry Potter had marked himself as special early on. How curious it was to collect the souls of mother and father, but not an infant son. Things became even more curious when he felt the loose fragments of Tom Riddle's soul floating around the room as well, taunting him because he was only able to look and not touch. He saw Harry Potter repeatedly over the years as those around him died and on one occasion he nearly collected his soul as well, but that damned ring he made so many years ago kept Potter just out of reach although the Potter boy quickly rewarded him by delivering the last part of Tom Riddle’s soul and ending the life of the creature that had taken his place.

Death had always kept his eyes on Harry Potter and the little that was left of Tom Riddle. He found a sick pleasure in collecting the soul pieces Harry left for him, checking on the boy along the way. Yet even Death made mistakes and when Hermione Granger began the ritual, he knew that he had overlooked another special one. Her soul called to him in the most wonderful of ways and he knew that her death would be a glorious one, but this wasn't her time no matter how much she seemed to be begging for death. He could feel her pain as she chanted and he longed to give her the sweet release of a true death, bursting her into flames as he had with so many unworthy before, but her intentions were true and her magic was strong. He couldn't take her now, it would be a travesty if he did. He would be saving himself so much work if she were to succeed and if she didn't then it would be glorious to see her try.

Her words sounded like the sweetest of symphonies. It wasn't often that he was able to listen to the humans and rarely did he hear them calling out to him, welcoming him. Her chants surrounded him, beckoning him towards her, demanding that a decision be made.

" _Abeo praetiritum,"_ She had a clear time and place in mind. What a good girl, not even phased by the power that was surging through her body at this point. Hermione always felt as though the air was crackling around her, so how was it any different when the entire room was charged with magic.

" _Oboe fax,"_ The growing charge in the room didn't compare to the spark within, but as Hermione repeated the words the energy around her grew. Her skin began to burn. Death was immune to her pain, but he couldn't ignore her calls. It had been ages since he had been referred to like this. People thought it was uncivilized to offer themselves to him, they didn't trust him anymore. He could admit that he had never been a fan of the sacrifices, they were just more work, but the recognition was nice. It was nice to be honored, to be recognized instead of shunned.

" _Ac ditios aetas,_ " After Hermione said the last words, she suddenly lost all sensation. The pain was blinding or maybe the magic was… Hermione really couldn't tell. All Hermione knew was that she wanted this to end.

Death hated this.

Her soul was so tempting, but this wasn't her time. He wanted so badly to ease her pain and suffering, to give her the end she craved so much. Yet, she had a much larger role to play. While this death was what she wanted, it was so clearly not the death that she deserved. She was destined for so much more pain, so much more sacrifice, but if she could make it through that she was destined for glory. Most importantly, if she survived then she would be happy. It was a movie that he hated to watch, but that he knew he wouldn't be able to look away from, and with all of the death he sensed around her, he had a feeling that there would be plenty of opportunities for him to watch along the way.

* * *

Diagon Alley was disgustingly full. He hated the fact that he was only allowed to purchase his books today. If he were just allowed to travel the Wizarding World as he pleased, as it was his right to do, then he wouldn’t have to put up with all of this nonsense. He wouldn’t have to listen as a sniveling child cried out for his mother or be crashed into by a young boy who was attempting to chase after the kitten he just bought. If he was allowed to come to the shops earlier, he wouldn’t have to constantly sidestep around the books were levitating in the air next to children as parents rushed them in and out of stores completely unaware of their surroundings. He wouldn’t have to maneuver around students who had just received their Hogwarts letters with a smile on his face, trying to present the image of the golden boy that he had worked so hard to perfect. There was no foot of space left unoccupied in the Alley, which meant that there was nowhere for him to slip away and let his magic run free.

Everywhere he looked there were people. There were papers flying about with the Prophet's newest scoop that were snatched out of the air, young children bouncing around as they begged to go to Fortescue's while their older siblings attempted to drag their parents from shop to shop, and parents who were all too ready to send their children off on the Hogwarts Express. None of them, especially not him, were ready for a bushy-haired girl's limp body to fall from the sky in a spectacular flash of light.

The entire alley stared at the girl who was a good thirty feet in the air. A few adults who had their wits about them quickly cast a cushioning charm before the frail girl smacked into the pavement. At this point, a large portion of the people in the alley attempted to rush to her side. Upon closer examination, the young woman stood out to the crowd even more. She was barely dressed, many of the more conservative men were positive that she must be in her undergarments. All she wore was a wand holster, which was missing a wand, and a white dress that would barely be considered what the muggles called a slip. She was entirely too thin and some of the mothers were already itching to shove food down her throat, but what entranced and horrified the bystanders in Diagon Alley the most were the scars that covered most of her body.

Someone from the crowd called out " _Rennervate"_ and she awoke with a gasp. Men and women were crowding her, trying to touch her, and it was all too much. She closed her eyes and her magic ran its course throwing everyone the alley at least three meters back. She struggled to cover her body from all of these strangers, unable to find a familiar face in the crowd, all the while her magic was building up inside of her again.

"I'm so sorry. So very sorry." She kept saying over and over again as her body shook. No one dared approach her again, not until she burst out in tears sobbing over how she had failed them all, how it was all her fault. Even then, it wasn't any of the bystanders who approached her but the aurors who had been alerted when Diagon Alley's wards were breached.

She was flashed away by a female auror and as the male auror began attempting to calm the crowd Tom decided he had seen enough. The girl had his interest, this auror did not. Once he arrived back at school, he would have to go ask Abraxas what daddy could find out about the dark-skinned girl who was so powerful that she knocked hundreds of wizards and witches off their feet without casting a single spell.

Death watched the scene from the background, feeling a pain in his chest as the crying girl was whisked away and Tom Riddle’s eyes lit up with interest. He had done his job, placed her where she needed to be, but at what cost?


	3. Diagon Alley's Fallen Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing goes according to plan and Hermione attempts to salvage her botched time travel.

> "Until you realize how easy it is for your mind to be manipulated, you remain the puppet of someone else's game." - Evita Ochel

Everything burned. She tried to close her eyes, but she blinded by a searing white light. There was no escape from the old magicks at play. She wouldn’t mind if it all ended here, then she’d be able to see everyone she lost again – she’d be able to see Fred again.

“As lovely as it is to see your beautiful face petal. I did not die for you, so you could muck things up and die too,” Her eyes opened to a light blue abyss with a large blurry figure slowly coming into focus. As her vision cleared, she saw Fred floating above her, a firm line replacing the sly grin that was usually on his face. Even in his angry state, Hermione couldn’t help the tears that were coming to her eyes.

Another voice began speaking and Hermione turned her head to see Remus and Sirius staring right at her.

“I’ve got to say that I agree with him there, Hermione. For someone so smart, this is incredibly stupid.” Remus’ voice rang out clear as day and her tears truly started to fall. She had buggered this whole situation and for what – an attempt to save a man who might not even be worth saving?

“Moony is right, kitten. I had one rule for you kids – don’t do anything I wouldn’t do – and somehow you managed to break it. You actually found something that I would never dream of doing.”

“I know, it was stupid. I was so stupid. I’m so sorry, so fucking sorry.” As she spoke her eyes squeezed shut, her arms wrapped around herself, and her breathing got significantly quicker. By the end of her first apology, she couldn’t get a word out without a short, shaky breath in-between and her arms were wrapped so tightly around herself that it would probably leave bruises. She was so caught up in her own world, her own guilt, that she didn’t notice the increasing volume of the people talking in the background, the wind whipping at the rest of her body, or even the familiar touch of the cushioning charm before her body hit the cold brick of Diagon Alley. All she could do was apologize and it wasn’t until a large, calloused hand touched her shoulder that she realized she wasn’t on her own.

She opened her eyes and found that Sirius, Remus, and Fred were replaced by hundreds of people who she didn’t recognize. Hundreds of people who were all crowded around her, staring and whispering. There were too many of them, they were too close. She reached for her wand and realized that she didn’t have it and the panic began to build. She whipped her head around searching for a way out, for an opening in the crowd and found none. The aurors standing over her had their wands out and through her blurry tear-filled vision the male auror looked just like Yaxley.

Fred, Remus, and Sirius were right. She had fucked up royally, she hadn’t gone back anywhere near as far enough if he was still there standing over her. It was too late, Voldemort had too much power now and she just needed to escape. The new magic within her was pressing against her chest, begging to be set free and she let it. The heat within her rose to the surface and pushed out around her sending everyone flying. She stood up and prepared to apparate away and regroup, but then she heard the female auror shout out to her male counterpart and she stopped in her tracks.

“Yaxley push the bloody crowd back, they’re terrifying the poor girl,” Hermione knew that voice – that was Cassiopeia Black. One of the first female aurors in Great Britain and, thankfully, one of the few tolerable portraits around 12 Grimmauld Place.

“ _Fuck,”_ Hermione thought to herself. “ _When was Cassie born? Somewhere between 1910 and 1920… either way, she’s an auror now, so that makes it at least ’2_ 7 _. She doesn’t look terribly old so it can’t be later than 1950. Maybe I’m not too late after all.”_

As Hermione stood, debating where in time she may have ended up. Cassiopeia Black slowly approached her and entwined her hand with Hermione’s.

“We’re gonna head to the ministry now, alright? We’ll get everything sorted there,” Cassiopeia spoke softly, giving her hand a soft squeeze before the familiar tugging sensation of apparition pulled them both away.

* * *

Hermione was beginning to regret her decision. She let them take her to the Ministry, demanded to speak with Albus, and then they threw her in a room and told her to wait. Occasionally, another auror would attempt to talk to her but she kept her mouth shut. She could use Albus, she knew how his mind worked. She couldn’t use any of these other people because she didn’t know who they were. So she stayed strong, she didn’t say anything except that she wanted Albus, but now… now, it had been hours since the last auror attempted to talk to her and gave her a slight reprieve from the oppressive bindings within the little ministry cell. She was beginning to give up hope that they would ever send her old professor.

As her mind raced, Hermione's heart began pounding erratically, and her magic attempted to reach out to comfort her. As her magic reached out, the wards instantly seized around it. The feel of her magic being bound, being pushed away by the cell around her, increased her anxiety tenfold. She was cataloging every book she read about the Ministry of Magic attempting to recall which wards were used where and how to get around them. All the while she was scolding herself because she had been so stupid, allowing the aurors to take her in and expecting them to actually give her what she asked for. None of this was a part of the plan and she was not thinking rationally. Yet, how was she expected to think rationally when Fred, Remus, and Sirius were all there watching her fail? She was supposed to arrive outside Riddle House where she only ran the risk of a few muggles seeing her. Instead, she landed in a packed Diagon Alley where the aurors were immediately alerted to her presence, the love of her life and her two male mentors decided to appear to her and scold her for her decisions before she even landed so that way she was an absolute wreck when she landed, and, to top it all off, somehow she ended up in a fucking silky white slip that she had never seen before exposing a good 60 percent of her scars and a whole lot of skin to the public in a time period that wasn’t accepting of either of those things.

Needless to say, nothing seemed to be going as planned.

Hermione told herself that it was alright though, if she had arrived before 1935 (when the Ministry had installed anti-apparition wards in all of their interrogation rooms) then she would be able to escape even with the current bind on her magic. Hermione took a deep breath and steeled herself before she closed her eyes and imagined Riddle House. She felt the familiar lurch of her stomach, but when she opens her eyes, she only sees the other side of the room.

 _“Alright girl, you’ve got this,”_ Hermione thinks to herself. _“You shouldn’t be able to move at all under apparition wards, so that means that these wards are weak. Try again and you just might break them.”_

So, Hermione tries again and again and again. Each time she opens her eyes, she is only met with the other side of the little Ministry room. She wants to scream, but she doesn't. She doesn’t know what year it is let alone who is watching her. She can’t afford to make another error. She’s made too many mistakes already.

“Breathe Hermione, just breathe,” She says to herself aloud before she attempts to count backward from 10 to slow her breathing and center her mind and magic. If she could calm down, then she could analyze the situation. It wouldn’t help anyone for her to attempt to reformulate the plan she had been working on for just short of 18 months now in some half-cocked way.

Her breath hitches as she realizes it has been eighteen months. All of her meticulous planning is out the window all because she couldn’t keep her fucking temper at a goddamned portrait. Every breath becomes a battle as the logical part of her mind wars with the emotional one. Logically, she knows that she has to stay strong that there is no time for self-doubt. Yet, there is still a large part of her – there has been since the end of the war – that is screaming out that she isn’t worthy, that she is in over her head, and she should have just let things be. She tries to imagine that voice as Bellatrix’s hoping that the pure hatred she has for that woman would help convince the rest of her that those thoughts were irrational, but once again that doesn’t go to plan.

“Stupid little mudblood thought she could play mummy to the Dark Lord,” Bellatrix’s maniacal laugh echoes throughout Hermione’s head. When Hermione closes her eyes, she can see Bellatrix standing over her, toying with a curved knife that is covered in blood – her blood.

Hermione knows that it is all a figment of her imagination. She knows that this version of Bellatrix doesn’t exist here. Hell, Bellatrix probably wasn’t even born yet, but the sight of Bellatrix – her wild curls frayed from the excess magic that had run through them, her pale, slender fingers clutching that bloody knife, and her cool grey eyes watching her with a sadistic glee – terrifies her more than she ever might admit. Hermione was no longer filled with self-doubt; she was filled with fear. The key to Hermione's survival was stuffing her fear deep down inside. Fear would corrupt her logical mind, it would make her act on instinct alone, and acting on instinct got messy. She couldn't afford to be sloppy now no matter what time period she had landed herself in. If the Ministry found out what she was up to, she would be sentenced to the kiss without a doubt.

It was hard for Hermione to temper herself when the fear took over and her magic was bursting out of the seams of the little container the wards attempted to put it in. She had been on the run too long. She needed the freedom to escape if things turned bad. She had taken all of these steps so she could never be contained again, yet here she was. Her magic was building up and pushing at her chest. It had just been freed, finally found a cohesive form, and now all of the wards were attempting to shove it into nothingness. The small fire that her magic had been was now a raging inferno, the flames licking at the edges of the boundaries attempting to break the wards with sheer force.

The fire within her magic was burning for the chance to feel the open air, the freedom to feel the caress of the old magic which covered their world and it would die if that meant shining light on such beauty - if even for a moment. Hermione's magic grounded her; it was the only thing that made her feel at home because it was the sole constant in her life. Yet, this new, volatile magic was not calming her in the slightest. It was pushing Hermione's already shattered psyche and threatening to blow it to smithereens like it planned to do with the rest of this room. If Hermione wasn’t going to take control and free them, then her magic would.

* * *

"She refuses to speak to anyone except for you."

Leonard Spencer – Moon, the Minister of Magic for the past decade, placed his black bowler hat onto Dumbledore's desk. The short, heavy-set male wiped his brow as he spoke, breath heavy from the short walk up to the third floor and down the Serpentine Corridor into the empty classroom where Albus Dumbledore had been pacing around the room only a few minutes prior.

"Who did you say she was?"

"A girl who fell from the bloody sky Albus," The minister shook his head with a heavy huff. The chair underneath him letting out a resounding groan as he leaned forward. "Gellert is getting closer and closer to England every day. The people are already on edge and a girl falling from the fucking sky into the middle of the Diagon Alley does not ease tension."

Albus hummed lightly, twisting the small vial in his pocket. While what happened with the girl was quite unusual, it was not unheard of, and he was already quite frustrated with _Leonard_ so he saw no need to instantly give in to one of the minister's many whims.

"The way that I understood it, Minister Moon, I was only supposed to be working on the blood pact this year. You attempted to bar me from teaching so I would devote all of my time to breaking the pact, yet somehow now you want me to take a break to go visit a girl who I may or may not know all because she 'fell from the bloody sky?'"

"It isn't just that," The minister glanced around the empty classroom once more as though someone would appear. The desk creaked under his weight as he lifted himself up. His motions were slow and choppy, Albus wondered to himself how such an oaf of a man found his way to the most powerful position in Great Britain because Leonard on his own was neither brilliant nor powerful. Perhaps the man just found himself in the right place at the right time.

After what seemed like ages, the oaf had made his way out of Albus' chair and lowered his voice considerably as he placed an unwanted hand onto Albus' shoulder.

"She is covered in scars. Scars that, according to my aurors, were inflicted by incredibly dark magic." Dumbledore thought to himself that was a bit odd, but not entirely uncommon especially among some of the stricter pureblood families.

"She has no wand, but her magic is oozing off of her and we can't tell if what happened in Diagon Alley was accidental or intentional."

Albus thought to himself that appearing in Diagon Alley was not impossible, there was apparition and portkeys. Floo was out of the question because of where she had landed, but Leonard would not be paying him a visit if that were all that happened. At this point, it was clear to Albus that there was something dear Leonard wasn't telling him.

"Frankly, we are lucky that the Daily Prophet has assumed she's just another victim of the war because from what we can tell she was an active fighter." Yes, something more had to have happened when she appeared. Something that the Prophet either chose not to report or was strong-armed into ignoring.

"A fighter who managed to overpower every single person in Diagon Alley without so much as a bat of the eye," What was it that happened in Diagon Alley? There were far too many witnesses for them to cover whatever she did up, but he hadn’t heard anything yet. She must have done something quite spectacular for Leonard to be so concerned and for so many fully-grown wizards to be so worried about sharing. Most men hated admitting that a woman showed any real power at all, he remembered the uproar when women were finally allowed into the auror core. If this girl really overpowered them all, then it would follow that they would likely be too embarrassed at being overtaken by a young girl to ever dare to admit it.

"Albus, we need to know if she is on our side because if she's not... I fear what's to come."

* * *

Leonard looked far too pleased when Albus agreed to go, yet he disappeared as soon as Albus was deposited outside of the interrogation rooms. Leonard’s sudden departure, which was played off as him being late for a meeting, only encouraged Albus’s belief that the cowardly man must have truly lucked into the position. Albus would have thought that the Minister’s reaction was solely his own cowardice, but when he began approaching where the girl’s cell was supposed to be Albus realized that might not be the case. The aurors rushed to his side, wands at the ready, and Albus thought he saw genuine fear in some of their eyes. It was quite curious that one girl could inspire in what was supposed to be Great Britain’s best.

Albus held up a hand and shook his head, holding back a slight chuckle. "She's just a girl. I'm sure there is no need for all of this fuss. Go on then, put your wands away."

Albus saw more than a few old students in the crowd of people standing next to him, but only one seemed to have the courage - or perhaps the authority - to respond.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir, we do not believe she is just a girl," Heavy black brows were furrowed in a near-constant look of exasperation that Albus had come to associate with young Bartemius Crouch. " She hasn't attacked anyone yet, but when the first group of aurors attempted to corral her into the interview room earlier she disarmed them all with a wave of a hand claiming that she wasn’t going to be poked and prodded at like some criminal. We would have been utterly fucked if she didn’t decide to walk into the room on her own initially, but since then we can tell that she’s getting anxious. She refused to talk to anyone other than you, so we stopped sending people in about an hour ago. Since then, she's apparated within the room three times even with her magic bound and the wards at full strength."

Albus was unable to hide the smile that formed as he tried to determine whether this girl was simply that powerful or if the aurors were all that stupid. Each option seemed viable, but one was far more fun than the others. He could check the wards and see if there were at full strength, but that would be too easy. He wanted to see this girl for himself.

" _Murus cecidimus,"_ Albus said with a flick of the wrist before approaching the now clear wall to observe the girl in question. She was pacing around the room. As she walked, he swore that he saw her hair sparking in the light which reminded him so much of Ariana it hurt. Leonard hadn't been exaggerating when he said the girl was covered in scars, there were so many exposed that he knew she must have chosen not to hide them or heal them. A few of the lighter scars on her arms could have been easily healed, leaving her young skin unblemished, but this girl didn't want that.

"Why is the wand holster still on her arm? Was she found without a wand or did you merely confiscate it and somehow forget the holster?"

Crouch shook his head, "No professor. We didn't forget to take the holster, I doubt we could get close enough to remove it at this point. When she appeared in Diagon Alley no one saw any wand on her person or near where she fell. We can only assume that her wand must still be wherever she was before this."

Dumbledore hummed in agreement before turning his cerulean eyes onto Crouch.

"Barty, I am going to take her out of that room," He held up a hand before Crouch could protest. "She's only going to be more hostile if she is locked in there. You’ve already seen how she’s attempted to test the limits of the wards because of how long she’s been in the room and if she is as powerful as you all say then the binding won't last much longer without continuous reinforcement. Feel free to run off and tell your superior. I'm sure that they would want to be alerted and I want to speak with her alone. Understood?"

The aurors apprehensively nodded, none of them were quite sure how to prevent what was going to so obviously be a policy violation or if they even had the authority to do so. The girl had asked for him, the minister had sent him, and their superior officer told them not to interfere, but they had never given anyone clearance to speak to a prisoner alone.

Albus didn’t care for their confusion though. He made it clear that he did not need nor want their permission by deciding to open the door as they all stared at him gape-mouthed. He didn’t say anything else, just sent them a wink before he headed straight for the girl who had uprooted his whole day in the best way possible.

* * *

The door was opened in a single fluid motion and Hermione was prepared to sprint out, but then she saw the tall man standing in the doorway. Ginger hair, ginger beard, soft lines forming by his lips and his eyes, his very blue eyes that managed to twinkle in the dim light of the room – Albus Dumbledore had finally answered her calls. She plastered a large smile on her face in case anyone else was watching and began to step towards this young version of her Headmaster.

"Albus, it's been so long!"

He tipped his head towards her as a subtle queue to continue. Albus may have been a manipulative bastard, but he had always been brilliant and if she wanted to succeed in escaping the ministry's clutches then Albus would be a necessary evil. She knew the more she spoke, the sooner he would catch on, and hopefully, the sooner he would get her out of this godforsaken room so she could cast a simple _tempus_ to determine her next course of action.

"Is there any chance that we could maybe go chat in your office over some tea and those lovely lemon drops you’ve always got? We really do need to catch up and then I can explain away this terrible misunderstanding. I’d do it now but these wards are making it so I can barely think straight."

Hermione had always assumed that Dumbledore's fascination with muggle candy had been a part of a life-long love affair, but now she was beginning to wish that she had paid a bit more attention to the more minute parts of Dumbledore's life. She was going to attempt to throw as many small hints as possible that she knew about him into the conversation, so he would believe that she was a friend.

One of the aurors was lingering in the doorway behind Albus and decided to speak up, “Professor Dumbledore, sir, I really don’t think that’s a good idea. We’ve still got a lot of questions that she needs to answer and even you visiting her like this isn’t standard procedure.”

The twinkle in Albus’s eyes seemed to get brighter as the auror behind him attempted to prevent him from doing as he pleased. Hermione was sure that Professor Twinkles got off on flouting the rules and showing off that he could.

“Barty, you can go tell _Leonard_ that if he wants to speak to either one of us, we’ll be back at Hogwarts,” Dumbledore said with a grin as he extended his hand out to Hermione and whisked her out of the ministry before any of the aurors could get in another word.

* * *

Hermione was not prepared to see Hogwarts again. The last time she had seen her former home had been shortly after the war when over half of the building had been reduced to rubble. As she and Albus approached, her stomach fell when the courtyard came into view. Looking out at the untouched land, her mind supplied images of the courtyard in disarray, covered with the bodies of the fallen. Some so disfigured that they were never identified. Others like Fred, her sweet Fred, looked so similar to how they had alive that the survivors were repeatedly checking if they were actually dead. A large part of her hoped then that it was all some big, twisted joke on his part. She didn’t always find all of his pranks funny and that would have been her least favorite of them all, but it would have been a much better alternative to the harsh reality. Staring out at the courtyard, she had to remind herself that was why she was here. She would be preventing all of those needless deaths, giving so many a chance to lead a full life, even if that meant that she had to give up her own.

Hermione ached to cast the tempus immediately, so she knew what to prepare for, but if she decided to do that then she would be blowing her cover right away. Everything she told Dumbledore depended on what year it was. If she had arrived early enough then she would concoct an identity based off of whichever war was taking place at the time, maybe tell him that she ran across Gellert and he explained Albus would help anyone who was in need. The later it was, the easier her false identity became to assume, but the harder it would be to lie to Dumbledore's face because he would be far more informed about Gellert’s actions and whereabouts. She hated to think it, but there was a chance she might have to tell Dumbledore the truth or at least part of it.

"Are you… were you a part of the war?" Dumbledore finally broke the silence of their walk as they entered the nearly vacant castle.

"Which one?"

"One wouldn't think that there are very many to choose from."

"Wars aren't rare Albus. The fact of the matter is that war, death, discrimination, whatever you would like to call it, it's ubiquitous, all that really matters is to which degree you are affected by it."

"That's an interesting perspective for one so young. Now I'm afraid that you have me at a disadvantage, you know my name but I cannot begin to fathom yours."

Hermione paused for a moment, names were important but the one she chose would vary on the persona she was forced to adopt.

"Hermione. You may call me Hermione." Sticking with her own first name would be far simpler to remember besides the best lies were based in the truth.

"Well, Hermione, I believe you said something about explaining."

Hermione nearly swore, with Albus' series of questions and watchful eyes that seemed to be keyed into her every move there was no way that she would be able to cast the charm without him noticing.

"I did," Hermione paused a moment, she knew the path they were taking and if things hadn't changed too much over the past century they would be at the Quidditch trophy case in another minute or so. A case that would have a shiny new plaque from last year’s winners. All she had to do was stall until then.

"I suppose I should ask you what you would like me to address first because there is quite a lot to unpack," Not the best stalling tactic because if Albus asked the wrong question she was entirely screwed, but every second she was able to divert the conversation would be of the utmost importance because it got her another second to find the year.

"You're wearing a wand holster but have no wand. What happened to your wand?"

"A spell went wrong a little while ago and my wand shattered. It's in quite a hopeless state now and I doubt that I would be able to find it, let alone fix it anymore."

"If it happened so long ago, then why are you still wearing your holster?"

The case was just around the corner and he was throwing her softballs, she would be able to do this.

"It's more of a force of habit than anything else. Like I said earlier war is everywhere and I don't like walking around unprepared."

Dumbledore's steps slowed and Hermione's heartfelt as though her heart would beat out of her chest. She could see the side of the case now, all she needed was to be a few meters closer, and then she would know.

"Hermione, you'll find that I am not a fan of those who aren't honest with me and I don't believe that you are being honest with me now," Hermione was unsure if she liked this younger version of Dumbledore. He seemed to be a tad blunter than the other version was, but Hermione also wondered if maybe his tactics had just changed a bit over the year. From the stories she heard from Professor McGonagall, Albus quite enjoyed infuriating those around him and it seemed as though he did so to provoke a reaction from those he was dealing with.

Hermione continued at the same pace but made it quite clear that she was going to remove the holster. Her hand began to unbuckle the first clasp and slowly made its way down her arm as she took care to stop immediately in front of the trophy case. While Albus' eyes were on her forearm, she was scanning the case to see what year it was and there she saw it. There was 1926 so she had missed Tom's birth, 1938 she had missed his first year of Hogwarts, 1943 she was unable to stop him from opening the Chamber of Secrets and making his first horcrux, and finally, 1944 which meant he had most likely killed the Riddle line depending on how far into the year they were. She wouldn't let herself be defeated by what he had already done, she would attempt to guide him properly, and if that didn't work then she would kill him.

"Professor Dumbledore, I am about to tell you something that would land me in Azkaban for the rest of my life or have me executed on the spot. I am not from this time, but I was sent to make sure the horrors that I lived through will never exist and you are the only one who can help me."

* * *

She was not being honest with him. She may not have been lying to him outright, but she was not telling the whole truth. This young girl, Hermione, was playing he and Gellert's game. Pointed questions that were met with vague answers that left one questioning themselves or the world. It was a wonderful diversion tactic, but again it was just that – a diversion.

"Hermione, you'll find that I am not a fan of those who aren't honest with me and I don't believe that you are being honest with me now."

The words seemed to get her attention because her pace slowed and she paused for half a moment, her hand twitching towards her wrist seemingly subconsciously. The wrist where her wand holster was covering what he assumed must be the worst of her scars. The puckered, red skin was slightly peeking through the gaps and it was the single scar she had attempted to hide. She wore the rest proudly, but not this one. Her movements towards her wrist seemed uncertain. It was as though she thought merely touching the scar would put her through the same pain again. There were several occasions where Albus thought she may stop. Small faults in how she unbuckled the straps or a slight hesitation as she pulled another strap loose.

With each strap, it became clearer that this was no ordinary scar from a spell gone wrong or even a simple curse. There were letters on her arm. Letters with small hitches in the sides as though a blade had gotten caught in the skin it was tearing through. This wasn't a scar that had been engraved by a wand. Someone had pinned the girl down and pushed a cursed blade, judging from the dark magic oozing off of the red lines, into her skin as her body shook. The slight shakes in each letter showed that this girl – Hermione if that was her name – had been conscious throughout the entire ordeal.

She opened her mouth and Albus assumed she would be explaining the scar, that she would end up in Azkaban for what she did to the person who had maimed her, but he was shocked to realize that not only was she not from this place, but that she was not from this time either. He had a million questions rushing through his mind and he didn't know which he wished to ask first, but Hermione didn't allow him the chance to decide.

"You sent me back professor. It may seem irrational to you now, but the Great War occurring with Grindelwald now is nothing compared to the wars yet to come. Over a third of the wizarding population in Great Britain will be decimated in a single war that the ministry will refuse to even acknowledge. It will take place in Britain, and only Britain, but the ministry will take no action. You are the only wizard with enough power to draw together a group to fight this silent war and for a while, you thought it may have ended – most of the world did, but a decade later the war will resume again, and your opponents will become more ruthless, more blatant, and seize control of the ministry. Eventually, they make their move to seize control of Hogwarts as well and that's when you realize there is no way out because at that point in time you realize that the figurehead of this war, a wizard who you believe to be on equal standing with yourself, has an unfair advantage… he has horcruxes.

"He has not made just one, but seven which are scattered across the continent. You did your best to track all of these horcruxes down, but in your hunt you discover, far too late, that one of the objects is cursed. Your fingers blacken and shrivel, then the rest of your hand and the curse is going to run its course. You know you are going to die, so you make your death matter. You have one of your spies kill you so he solidifies the enemy's trust and your chosen one can continue on in his hunt for the horcruxes. It is a perilous hunt and one that you know may not succeed, so you send others on the mission with your chosen one. He is bullheaded and refuses to give up the fight – if anyone stands a chance at killing the enemy it is him, but you know that isn't enough, so you make sure the chosen one has friends.

"Friends who compliment him in every way. You chose another boy who is an incredible strategist and who knows the things about wizarding culture that the chosen one does not. You also chose a young girl whose intelligence is unmatched and who is the only one that can keep the two bullheaded boys on task. You give each of them the same talk that you gave to the chosen one, but you decide to tell the girl something different. You give the logical girl your back-up plan. You know that you will be dead in half a year and there's a high probability that so will your golden trio, but you decide to tell her just in case. You tell her she must go back in time and stop this mess.

"You tell her this because she is the only one of the trio who will remember each and every detail about your past and know how to navigate through the potential minefields of being in another time. She is the only one whose looks wouldn't give her away in an instant because, you see, those two boys look like their fathers and their fathers before them, but this girl doesn't have those ties. This girl is a mudblood who can be anyone who she needs to be and this girl is strong enough to endure the adoption ritual once you decide who she must be – Hermione Carina Black. The child of your friend Phineas Black and his young bride Eshe Kama who are entirely disconnected from the British wizarding world, who easily could have had a child without anyone knowing, and who died this year when the war swept through the little French town where they stayed.

"You tell the girl details about your life that you've never told anyone before so that way she will gain your past self's trust. You educate her on her family tree which takes some time for the Black family but is quite simple for her mother's side because they have all died off before this war began. You do everything in your power to prepare her before you die. When you do die, the girl leaves to hunt horcruxes with the chosen one and she sees the world around her falling apart. She watches as friends and family die. She watches as the enemy no longer feels the need to hide because he has finally regained all of his strength, if not gotten more powerful. She suffers through their torture and finds herself permanently branded because of it. She survives while everyone around her dies and then she attempts the ancient ritual you left her and somehow she succeeds."

Hermione's voice has faded to just above a whisper by the time she finished and Albus finds himself wanting to wrap his arms around the girl. She was not outwardly emotional, but he could feel the way her magic shifted as her tale continued. He felt as though he were locked into place when her magic pushed down on him as though it were portraying the burden he had placed on her so long ago. She was just like his little Ariana – so smart, so powerful, and so terribly burdened. He saw why he chose her, why he didn't want her to die. She was also the right age, perfectly able to fit in with the budding Dark Lord that she was talking about now and attempt to change his mind.

Yes, he saw why he sent her back. She was powerful and dangerous wrapped up in a beautiful package. She was the perfect specimen to draw Tom in, to stop him before his evil empire began, and this time around he wouldn’t even have to get his hands dirty.

“You sent her back because she has to do the one thing you couldn’t. She has to kill the Dark Lord, the only man you’ve ever loved - Gellert Grindelwald.”

* * *

It was a lie. A glaring lie shrouded by the truth. Albus had never chosen her for a thing, but his ego was so conflated that this would be the only way he would accept her. Albus had always been guilty of thinking that he was the smartest person in the room and this time Hermione took advantage of that. Dumbledore would never question his own motives especially from a girl who seemed so harmless. Hermione may have shown how powerful she was, but Dumbledore would never take that seriously. It was the 1940s in Great Britain no man would take her seriously until she made them and now was not that time. She needed Dumbledore to underestimate her. She needed him to believe that he had been the master of her every decision since she had arrived and she had to throw him off his rhythm. He didn't need to know that she hadn't arrived at the right place or the right time and he didn’t need her to reinforce his belief that Tom was evil. He had to think that things were going perfectly to plan and that she was on a mission that he couldn’t complete alone. Hermione thought she did a damn good job of convincing him of that. It may have been too easy to use Gellert as the scapegoat, but no one here knew that they were lovers. It was a piece of information that Dumbledore would never entrust to anyone that he did not have full confidence in and it just worked so wonderfully with everything else that she had done.

She was extremely grateful for the time she had spent studying the Black family tree because that allowed her to recall the disgraced and disowned Phineas Black who had befriended a young Dumbledore and was blasted off the Family Tree for being a muggle lover. Phineas Black was rumored to have had an affair with the last of the Kama line before he died in the second wave of Grindelwald's attacks. She didn't have Kama blood, but that wouldn't matter. No one would be able to test her on that, her dark skin alone would make her Kama heritage clear, it was the Black heritage she would be tested on and thanks to Dorea Black, Harry's lovely grandmother, she had such magic in her blood and enough of it to pass any test required. Odds were that the Black family would reject her anyway until she proved her worth, but her "pure" heritage would be enough to bypass most of the harassment she may face and, hopefully, pique Tom's interest.

Hermione watched Dumbledore carefully as he attempted to process the information. The twinkle was gone from his eyes and he was barely able to control his facial expression as his mind raced through everything she just told him. He seemed a bit shocked but mostly resigned before he finally schooled his features into a more neutral expression.

"I suppose you'll be my new ward then. After all, your father and I were the best of friends and you have no other family that knows of your existence."

Hermione nodded her head firmly, quite glad that Albus knew enough not to ask any more questions and play along with the story from here on out.

"I'll have some house-elves send up some food while I summon a few people to come to meet you so you can explain what happened to your family and the incident in Diagon Alley before anything else may occur."

Hermione nodded again as she stepped into his office, unable to hold back her smile as Albus told the Red Lady " _lemon drops"_ to allow the two of them in – Albus was too predictable. She knew that when he left he would be gathering the headmaster and some other ministry official because of her stunning arrival. It would be no issue for her to play the grieving young girl in front of them because that was the role she attempted to hide from the world most of the time. All it took was spots of truth and they would believe her. If she had convinced Dumbledore, then the rest of the world would be no issue.

She secured the wand holster back over her scar almost instantly. She knew she would have to cast a permanent sticking charm on her holster and a powerful glamour over the scar itself to avoid any questions. The easiest way to blow her cover was her scar and Bellatrix had made it terribly hard to hide. She would probably have to take some extra time researching ways to possibly heal her arm with Dumbledore although she felt as though she had exhausted the possibilities on her own. If worse came to worse, she would change the scar herself with another cursed blade. There were runes she could create out of the letters already imprinted on her skin. Runes that would symbolize power and protection, two things someone caught in a war would desperately want to have. Two things a person might be so desperate for that they would permanently mar their skin.

When Dumbledore walked back through the door with who she recognized as Headmaster Dippet and a man who reminded her quite a bit of Winston Churchill, Hermione was picking at a sandwich the elves had given her after insisting that "young miss is too thin too too thin".

"Hermione, dearest, I'd like to introduce you to the Headmaster, Armando Dippet, and our esteemed Minister of Magic, Leonard Spencer – Moon, both Headmaster Dippet and Minister Spencer – Moon are most interested in your story. I told them some of the basics, but we all thought it may be best if you filled them in on all the details."

Albus placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder, an act of familiarity that made her skin crawl, but that she grinned and bore.

"Of course, Uncle Albus," She thought the Uncle would be a nice touch, "Good evening Headmaster Dippet, Minister Moon, I'm Hermione Black. It's lovely to meet you, although I do wish it were under better circumstances."

Watching Narcissa throughout her trial was a blessing because it allowed Hermione to match her mannerisms perfectly and become the wonderful little pureblood princess she was claiming to be.

"As I'm sure Uncle Albus has told you, my mother was Eshe Kama and my father was Phineas Black II," Hermione paused for a moment glancing down, memories of the war flashing through her mind.

"Grindelwald attacked our village several months ago and they were both killed. I managed to make it out alive and joined the resistance, I fought with everything I had and so did those around me, but last night that wasn't enough. We were found out and I had to watch as my friends were tortured and killed."

She paused once more, her mind flashing back to Fenrir's rude comments during her torture and she knew exactly which route she would be taking with this.

"They were taken out one by one and I was the last one left. They tortured me until morning came, but then one of them decided that he wanted to have a _taste_ of me so they stopped," She felt tears coming to her eyes at the thought of her actual torture and she remembered how much she wished for death at that moment.

"He climbed on top of me and attempted to curse me to keep me still, but I managed to grab his wand. I pushed him away and tried to apparate, but I wasn't able to focus... I couldn't keep one place in mind and he was trying to snatch his wand out of my hand and he succeeded in getting it away from me, but I could already feel that pull in my stomach, and then I was gone. Everything went dark and I thought I had died … I wish I had died,” Her breathing hitched and she noticed that both the Headmaster and the Minister had a very familiar look of pity in their eyes.

Hermione looked down at the ground and allowed a few tears to come to the surface before continuing on.

“Then all of a sudden, I was awake and all these people were around me who I didn't know. My magic just lashed out, it was trying to calm me down, but everything started to sink in. All of my friends, all of my family… I'll never see them again. I let them die and I couldn't handle it. I broke down," She turned her head towards the minister, "That's when your aurors found me when I was crying on the ground."

The Minister had summoned a handkerchief and wordlessly offered it to her. Hermione whispered a soft “thank you” as she wiped her eyes and took a while to visibly calm herself down for the purpose of the group.

"I’m really sorry sir. I know that I should have stayed in the cell I was in without complaint, but being on the run for so long and having my magic restrained… I just couldn't handle it. When I had calmed myself enough to think straight I remembered Uncle Albus and his visits, the only family – even though it may not be by blood – that I had left."

Hermione looked up to Albus with a smile for good measure and then looked back at the two men sitting in front of her.

"I can’t apologize enough for all of the commotion I caused. Uncle Albus was explaining it to me before you all arrived. I really don't want to be any trouble, it's just… I have nowhere else to go and Uncle Albus said you two might help me."

The Minister placed a hand over the top of Hermione’s and shook his head. “Oh, you poor girl. You have nothing to apologize for. You’ve been through more than enough already, what with that awful Grindelwald fellow, and you just decided to come to Great Britain where you knew you would be safe. You did what any sane person would do in your situation.

Hermione nodded, she had a strong feeling that the Minister’s words were not meant to comfort her as much as they were meant to give him good talking points whenever he was asked about the girl who fell from the sky. She would not be seen as a threat but as a refuge. A sensible, young girl of good breeding who knew there was only one place protected from Grindelwald’s grasp. With the way that the Minister was looking at her, she wouldn’t be surprised if he asked her to do an interview with the prophet next to echo just that.

Instead of engaging with the Minister more, Hermione chose to direct her big, brown, teary eyes at Dippet.

"Headmaster, Albus has told me so many stories of Hogwarts and how wonderful it is, but father was always afraid to send me there. He was nervous about what his old family may do to me, but he and Mama won't be able to teach me anymore and anything is better than the hell that is France right now. I just don’t have anywhere else to stay and I haven’t reached my majority yet so I cannot buy any place of my own. Please sir, may I stay and study at Hogwarts? Just for this year?"

* * *

"Abraxas, you have good news I hope?"

The smile on Tom's lips was all too familiar and Abraxas knew Tom was already thinking of the various ways he could curse him if his information was not up to par. Thankfully, Abraxas was sure that what he had discovered would please Tom as much as anything could.

"I do. Father met with the Minister earlier today and found out about Diagon Alley's ‘fallen angel.’"

Tom raised a brow in interest and tilted his head for Abraxas to continue his tale.

"She was a part of the war as you suspected my lord. She was a fighter in the resistance against Grindelwald because he had killed her parents."

Tom raised his hand and Abraxas immediately stopped, "Is she a mudblood or is she someone who may be worthy of our cause?"

Abraxas was uncertain of how to answer this question, so he decided to supply Tom with all of the information that he had on the girl and her family as he attempted to formulate an acceptable answer that would be the least likely to get him cursed in the long run.

"She is not a mudblood, my lord. She is a pureblood. She is technically a member of the Sacred 28 although almost no one in all of the United Kingdom knew about her because of her muggle sympathizing father. Her name is Hermione Carina Black. Her father is Phineas Nigellus Black who was disowned by his father, the headmaster before Dippet, because of his association with known blood traitors like the Dumbledores. Specifically, he had an incredibly close relationship with Albus Dumbledore. Phineas fled to France after being cut off from his family and being decimated socially. There he managed to meet a young Eshe Kama who was the last remaining member of her family – truly a pity really, the Kama line could be traced almost as far back as the Malfoy line,”

Tom clicked his tongue quickly and Abraxas realized he was getting a bit off-topic, which did not bode well for his chances of getting out of this room without being under Tom’s wand at least once.

“But I digress - According to Father, Hermione was trained by her mother and father her entire life because her father lived in fear of what his parents might do to her if they found out. Father says that a lot of the older English families like the Blacks view darker skin as just as much of a sin as mingling with those of dirty blood. The Kama family is known for their dark complexions, so Phineas thought that his parents, specifically his mother if the rumors are right, might like to finish off what some of the other racist families had started and extinguish the Kama line including the blight upon the family tree that is a mixed grandchild i.e. one Hermione Carina Black.”

Abraxas paused for a moment, knowing that he had to answer Tom’s question now because he was out of material.

"I do not know if she will support our cause my lord, Grindelwald shares some of our views not all. I’m unsure why she was in the resistance against him. I don't know if she joined over one of our shared beliefs or one of the few beliefs we differ on, or just because he had killed her parents, but you will be able to determine her worth for yourself."

Tom's eyebrows furrowed in confusion and Abraxas quickly moved to elaborate, not wanting to let his Lord sit in the dark.

"Father says that she will be joining us at Hogwarts."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you notice that some of the pieces of the story aren't told quite the same way? I'm attempting to convey the story from different character's perspectives and not everyone sees things the same way.


	4. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is properly introduced to the 1940s Wizarding World.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm attempting to keep this fic as historically accurate as possible. Hermione is a POC in the 1940s, so I feel like it would be incredibly inaccurate to ignore the discrimination that she would have faced. I do believe that the Wizarding World would have cared less about race because they were so focused on magic and blood status, but even then I think that she would experience some prejudice so I would just like to warn you all that there will be blatant racism, casual instances of racism and prejudice, and some not so PC comments made by a few of the characters. None of those views reflect my own in any way shape or form.

> "I am made and remade continually. Different people draw different words from me." - Virginia Woolf 

Hermione was used to people staring at her. They had stared at her all her life, but she hadn't seen anything quite like this before. These people weren't staring at her in hatred or adoration as they tended to in her own time. These people were watching her as though she were some lab rat who was just given a dose of experimental medicine. They gawked at her in bewilderment, amazed at everything she did because they seemed to have no clue what she would do next. Unbeknownst to Hermione, most of the people in Diagon Alley had seen her before – whether they were there the day she fell from the sky or they saw her picture on the front page of the Daily Prophet. No one knew what to think because they had a single experience with her which had only shown two things – she was incredibly powerful and incredibly broken. Yet, if it wasn’t for her darker skin and wild curls, none of the people in Diagon Alley would have recognized her. The girl in front of them was not laying on the ground and crying for those she had lost. She did not look like a wilting flower who couldn’t control herself or her magic.

Hermione took their stares in stride, strutting through the streets with defiance in her eyes. It didn't matter that she was wearing tattered-old robes donated from Hogwarts, she walked as though she wore the finest of silks. Her head was held high and she refused to pay the onlookers any mind. Narcissa and Draco would never acknowledge them, so she couldn’t either. She had to emulate power, nobility, act just like someone with old blood who had been raised knowing that they would always be one of the most important people in the room.

Hermione was destined to stand out from the crowd in this time period. In this era, it was uncommon for women to go out alone, especially ones around age. Hermione didn’t wear any jewelry to implicate that she was taken, yet she walked with the freedom of a woman who was promised and protected. Hermione’s blatant disregard for the unwritten social norms personally affronted many of the highborn witches and wizards who saw her. Although that was only what people noticed when they looked closely, most people were fascinated by where she might be from. She wasn't any shade of white they had seen before, but she wasn't entirely dark either. She was a strange in-between. A shade that showed she didn't belong to either group, which begged the question: what was she? Was she from some far-off land that they hadn't heard of? Was she a combination of the two? The former meant she was something new to be poked and prodded at. The latter meant she was something rare which bred curiosity and contempt.

Hermione decided not to comment on the blatant racism of the women who decided to rush out of the robe shop when she walked in. She knew that, in this time period especially, things could be much worse than a few older women deciding to leave whatever establishment she entered. If she were in muggle London, she was sure that there would be more than a few nasty words said at her expense or worse depending on where exactly she went. There wasn’t much literature on racism in the Wizarding World during this time period, but Hermione wasn’t sure if that was because the Wizarding World decided that they would be more focused on other ways to discriminate (blood status) or because there were so few people of color with magical abilities in Great Britain during all of the major civil rights movements that it was just never written about.

"How may I help you?"

As soon as Hermione walked into the shop a young woman was in front of her. The little hair the shop girl had was rolled tightly atop her head and even that seemed like it would be enough to make the small girl topple over. Hermione hadn't eaten consistently for over a year, but next to the shop girl Hermione looked quite large. Her bone structure alone was enough to outweigh the peppy, little shrimp in-front of her. Hermione put on her Narcissa smile – just a hint of teeth showing with a gentle nod of the head – and took her time looking over the shop before speaking.

"Yes, I'm in need of a full wardrobe. I prefer blacks, reds, and greens, but I assume you know how to color-match?" Hermione raised her brows slightly with her question and the little girl rapidly nodded and looked as though she was about to open her mouth and ramble on, but Hermione just continued on. "Then do so and compile everything I need. Don't worry about the price, just get me the best of what you have in this little shop and quickly. I'll take a set of robes now for the rest of my shopping and then I'll be back at the end of the day to collect the rest."

Narcissa wouldn't ask for this to be done, she would tell them, and it would happen, so that was what Hermione had to do. This was her first proper public outing, so she needed to make it clear that she was the perfect, pureblood princess she claimed to be. Hermione might be able to play off any mistakes she might make because she had been "kept from wizarding society" for so long, but that would only work for so long and she would prefer having to use that excuse more than necessary. This meant that she would act the same way in every other shop she went to, giving them the list of what she needed and then telling them that she would be returning to collect it. This would also be her first test of acting like a pureblood in the 1940s. Dealing with shop owners meant that she would get to see if anything on her lists either didn't exist yet, which all of it should, or if things might be far less common – which was a bit more likely.

The girl taking Hermione's measurement was trembling at this point and neither Hermione nor the girl was sure if it was because of the way she looked, the way she had spoken, or the sheer magical energy the shop girl could sense coming off of Hermione when she got close enough to take the measurement. The girl began nervously chattering, telling Hermione all about how some of her clients had managed to go up three or more sizes, how one girl was pregnant, and another engaged. Hermione never responded, merely waiting for the measuring to be done, but as the girl chittered away Hermione got an idea. She waited until she checked out to put her little plan into motion and then, the shop girl gave her the perfect opportunity.

"Pardon me miss, but what name should I put it under?"

"Hermione Black."

At Hermione's words, the girl's eyes widened, and her jaw dropped only to be quickly snapped back shut as she saw the way Hermione's eyes narrowed. She handed Hermione a new set of robes without a word and disappeared so Hermione could change.

"I'll be back after five," Hermione called out as she left.

* * *

This shop was his life.

He had grown up knowing that one day he would run the shop and so would his children after him. Garrick Ollivander knew the importance of the work he was doing. Wands not only chose the wizard, but they made them. A great wizard would find it hard to be great without a wand to match. Great wizards and witches were always the hardest to pair with the right wand. Garrick liked to believe that the only reason why he hadn't had too many particularly difficult pairings in the last few years was because he was getting better at reading the young children who walked through the door. Yet, he knew that wasn't the case. If you match a child with an unfit wand, the reaction of the wand indicates what to do next. With young children, it is the easiest because on the whole, their magic is so pure that their natural strengths will instantly shine through.

The reaction of the wand and the magic together creates a path which in most cases is incredibly clear, but for the most powerful of wizards, things get a bit muggier. Powerful magic can make a weaker wand bend to its will. He has never seen a child force a wand to submit before, but there have been a few witches and wizards who have broken their wands that he has seen bend the will of a few wands that weren’t perfect matches. Those cases were few and far between with Ollivander himself only seeing this phenomenon occur twice since he had been in charge of the shop and his father seeing it occur five or six times in the 80+ years he sold wands. Yet, for the first time in nearly a decade, Ollivander was faced with a case like this again.

Twelve wands. The girl who had walked into his shop had gone through twelve wands, all of which obeyed her, and all of which she shook her head at.

"It doesn't feel right. My magic isn't happy with it."

This girl was no child, but she looked to be of schooling age. How could one so young be so in-tune with her magic? The last time he had a case like this was when a dueling champion's wand had been snapped back in thirty-three and even then that man wasn't able to convince so many wands to do his bidding.

Garrick would admit that finding a wand after forging your bond with your first was much harder, but it shouldn't be anything like this. Older wizards would go through two maybe three wands, but by then the true match always made itself clear. This girl had appeared out of nowhere and was quickly working her way through his inventory. Admittedly, his initial read on her hadn't been the best but he wasn't getting any hints from the wands. For once in his life, he was praying for his windows to shatter or for the vase full of flowers in the back to die. If only he could see a negative reaction, then he would know where to go. Negative reactions were the best signal of the next wand to try. If a Yew wand revolts against a wizard, then its opposite, willow, is almost always what the wizard will end up with. He had given this girl yew and then willow, dragon heartstring and then unicorn hair. The opposite combinations all worked for her, but none of them were right.

Garrick was cataloging all of the wands that he had in his mind, trying to determine what might be a match for the young girl waiting impatiently in front of him. He had given up on trying to take hints from the wands at this point, now he was focused on the strongest wands he had. He wondered to himself which combinations would be the most powerful, which cores would provide her the most strength, and which woods would compliment them the best, then he was able to determine which want should be pulled next.

"Lucky number thirteen," The girl drawled out with a bored look on her face that only increased Garrick's determination to get the next one right. He pulled out an older black box and slid it in front of her. This wand had been one of Garrick’s first creations and had been a particularly difficult one to match.

"11 inches long. Holly and Phoenix Feather."

His words were met with a sudden snap of her head which caused the chaotic mass of curls to move as though they had a life and magic of their own. It was the largest reaction he had seen out of her since she had arrived, but she covered it as quickly as it had happened. She callously reached out for the wand and gave it a quick swish and flick. The wand did as all the others had and lifted the box it was in only a moment before. Garrick was nearly going to curse, how many wands could one witch try? But then she spoke.

"This is it," She slid the wand into her holster, grabbed a bag of galleons and tossed it on the counter, and left with a flourish calling out, "It's been a pleasure as always Mr. Ollivander, keep the change."

* * *

Hermione thought to herself how Narcissa must have hated walking into this little shop. It was a hole-in-the-wall, to say the least. Not much larger than a ministry elevator and in a far worse state. There was dust covering the single wand on display in the window – the very same wand that was there the first time Hermione had come to see Ollivander. There were peeling gold letters over the door of the shop and the door itself was charred, no doubt from one of Ollivander's most recent customers, and inside wasn't much better. There was a small, decrepit desk with a broken wooden chair behind it and hundreds of narrow boxes containing wands were piled right up to the ceiling behind that. There was dust on everything there which was a feat within itself considering how many children must have passed through it these past few days. It was everything that a pureblood princess should hate, and Hermione loved all of it.

When Ollivander turned to Hermione with that crooked smile saying, "Well you're quite a bit older than I'm used to. What can I do for you?" It took quite a bit for Hermione to keep her impassive face so she could keep up her appearances.

"I need a wand. My last one broke."

Short and to the point, that was how she sold this. The more she spoke, the more her personality would creep in. Once she was at Hogwarts surrounded by those who were supposed to be her peers then maybe she could let some of her facade down, but even then she would have to be careful. She couldn't let herself turn back into the bossy, outspoken swot she was all throughout school, it would give her away too easily.

"Thirteen inches. Unicorn hair and ash."

Ollivander had a large smile on his face, but Hermione just nodded curtly. She waved the wand, thinking _Wingardium Leviosa_ and the box rose along with her wand but something didn't feel right. The wand was listening to her, but her magic just felt off. She didn’t need to force this wand to do anything like Bellatrix’s when she bent it to her will, yet the wand didn’t feel as it should. She couldn’t put her finger on why that was the case or why she wasn’t met with a visceral reaction like she used to whenever she used an unsuited wand.

"This one isn't right."

The smile on Ollivander's face fell and his browns furrowed but he covered it quickly and brought her another wand and then another and another. Each time the same thing happened, she could get the wand to do as she pleased, but it didn't feel right. None of these wands called to her magic the way she knew they should. As wand after wand was discarded Hermione's hope and patience was diminishing. It seemed as though nothing would work, but then Ollivander brought out one of the few wands she would never forget.

"12 and three-quarters. Walnut and dragon heartstring."

Hermione kept her face impassive and kept to the routine, no matter how much she wanted to snap the wand before Bellatrix was even born she had to remind herself that she was changing the timeline. If Voldemort never came to power, then Bellatrix wouldn't have an excuse to let her dark magic run wild and maybe her madness wouldn't set in. For all she knew Bellatrix might not even be born after the way she manipulated the timeline. It was a waste to destroy such a powerful wand that could be used for good.

Hermione thought that they were actually doing quite well, out of the twelve wands she had seen only one was from a person that she knew in the future. Of course, her thinking that would have jinxed it because the very next wand nearly broke her. She would recognize it anywhere, she had seen it for years in classes and during late night homework sessions. She didn't need to hear Ollivander's description to know that this was Harry's wand. She picked it up, determined to just go through the motions, but as soon as she touched it her magic let her know that while this might not be the perfect wand it was what she needed. It didn’t set her magic alite or send a rush through her like she used to feel with her original wand, but there was a small warmth that the wand created within her. The wand felt like home and Hermione couldn't let it go. She would use it until she found her true wand and after that, she would keep it for Harry.

She couldn't stay any longer or she just might let the emotion overcome her, so she took a play from Snape's playbook and let her robes do the talking when she made her grand exit.

* * *

“Tom, my boy, come here for a minute,” Slughorn called out loudly from the end of the hall.

Tom was hoping for a few more minutes of solitude as he did his final sweep of the halls before the first-years arrived, but he knew that his Head of House would have tracked him down eventually.

“Professor,” Tom beamed as he closed the gap between himself and the jovial, round man. “What can I help you with?”

“I just wanted to have a quick word with you before the feast begins. I know that you’ve got a lot of responsibilities as Head Boy, but I’ve got a small favor to ask.”

“Whatever you need professor.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors about that poor girl who apparated into Diagon Alley,” Tom nodded and actually felt some genuine interest emerge.

“Don’t tell anyone I told you this, but that sweet girl actually fought against Grindelwald’s men and knowing her father, shameful thing that he and his family had that falling out because Phineas was truly quite brilliant – a Head Boy like yourself – he fought with all of his might before he fell. Some of my sources within the Ministry have told me that their spies say that Grindelwald himself was the one who delivered the final blow to Phineas…”

Slughorn’s voice trailed off in what Tom thought must be grief.

“I’m sorry sir, but I don’t understand what all of this has to do with me.”

“Oh yes, sorry Tom. It’s just that Phineas’ daughter, the girl from Diagon Alley, is going to be joining us this year. I’d like for you to look after her. She’s one of the good ones and I want to make sure that she knows that she is welcome. Seeing as you’re Head Boy, top of your class, and all the other students look up to you it would mean quite a lot if you could reach out to her. Who knows, maybe you’ll find that you quite like this girl, she does have an exotic sort of beauty to her.”

Tom fought the urge to roll his eyes at Slughorn’s thinly veiled matchmaking attempt.

“Maybe professor, but you know that I’m not focused on those kinds of things right now. The right woman will come around eventually.”

Slughorn laughed and jovially patted Tom on the back. "Oh Tom, you sly dog you, I know that you're out there playing the field. Just be careful you hear, don't let all the good ones get snatched up and engaged. A good wife can do wonders for a political career and most of the girls your age are engaged by now. Ms. Black is not and her name could do wonders for someone like you."

Those words drove Tom mad. He had heard some variation of them every year and it was a complete joke. It was his magical might that would engrain his legacy on the world, not some silly little girl who couldn't give him anything he didn't already have. Tom had more money than he would ever be able to spend because of the Malfoys were already supporting his cause and as soon as that old bat died, he would have the Black money too. He had all the sex he wanted because the girls threw themselves at his feet: married, engaged, or otherwise. He wouldn't need a wife to gain clout in the Ministry because he wouldn't be going through the Ministry in the typical fashion. If Grindelwald had taught him anything it was that a little bit of chaos went a long way and Tom already reveled in chaos and pain.

This was the year to put all of the groundwork in place. He had already created one horcrux and before the end of the school year, he would have another. He would have every protection in place before he went and faced Grindelwald himself. He wouldn't kill him, not yet at least. The constant visits from the ministry to the transfiguration classroom made it quite clear that old Albus and Grindelwald might take care of each other. It would look awfully suspicious if the only person who had ever made a negative claim about him disappeared right as he rose to power. No, it would be better if Grindelwald killed Albus, and then Voldemort would swoop in like the hero he was always meant to be. Dear old Gellert didn't know it, but he had provided the perfect platform to capitalize on. Gellert was far too extreme to the general public, even if most of them agreed with what he had to say. That was where Tom's silver tongue and golden-boy reputation would benefit him while Voldemort was able to round up all of Grindelwald's followers in the background and kill them off.

It would be glorious. Voldemort and his Knights of Walpurgis would go around finishing off Grindelwald's troops and eventually, Voldemort would kill Grindelwald himself. After Grindelwald was dead, it would come out that the Knights of Walpurgis were truly men who had just graduated from Hogwarts. They would be reluctant to reveal who was Voldemort at first, but then one of the boys would give in – it would have to be Abraxas or Orion, they had the most influence – and reveal that the real hero of this story was actually little, orphan Tom Riddle. This combined with a few flattering articles would have the majority of the Wizarding World on his side, his knights would take care of anyone who dared speak out against him, and the true power play would begin. He will gain control of Great Britain because the people will be begging him to do so.

All he needed was this year. He needed one year to properly train his knights and to plan for all the contingencies. After a year his trace would be gone, his knights would be ready to fight, and the power play would begin. One more year of enduring the snot-nosed first years who attempted to throw their name in his face before they realized how strong he was. One more year of listening Slughorn blabber on and on about what Tom "just has to do" with his future. One more year of playing the role of Tom Riddle. This persona was his masterpiece, but it was exhausting and, at times, humiliating. After he killed Grindelwald, he would never have to play this part again. He could be the savior, the hero, and he could do whatever he pleased.

"How was Diagon Alley?"

Dumbledore, Tom swore that every time he even thought of the wretched man's name he popped up.

"It was pleasant enough. The goblins gave me a bit of trouble, but that was to be expected. I was claiming quite a few vaults that they thought were theirs because they had been abandoned for the past century or so."

Tom hadn't heard this voice before and he could tell that this wasn't just some first-year who had gotten lost.

"Did you find a suitable wand?"

Tom thought he heard a sigh, but he was too far away to be certain.

"It will do for now, but it isn't meant for me."

 _What does that even mean? Is this girl just a younger Dumbledore?_ Tom thought to himself as he edged a bit closer. He wanted to be able to see the pair, but he had to avoid being seen.

"Did anyone recognize you?"

The girl let out a short laugh, one that Tom found was pretty similar to what he used when he was trying to appease Slughorn or Dippet.

"Many people did, it is hard not to stand out when you're the darkest person that most of these witches and wizards have seen in person. It's nearly impossible not to be recognized when you fell from the bloody sky and your face is plastered on every paper in the Wizarding World although I didn’t find that out until about the third shop I entered when a little girl decided to shout ‘Mummy, look it’s Diagon Alley’s Fallen Angel! She’s here! She’s really here!’” Tom heard a soft laugh, a melodious sound. “Figures that the Prophet would come up with such an unoriginal moniker that couldn’t be further from the truth. None of them knew who I was though if that was what you were asking. Although I did tell a particularly gossipy seamstress my name so I wouldn't be surprised if the whole world didn't know by the end of the night."

"All that matters is that he knows. If he hears that you are here, then he won’t be able to resist finding out more for himself."

Dumbledore's words were firm and Tom heard a small hum of agreement. All he could think about was who this person was. The obvious answer seemed to be Grindelwald, but why would Grindelwald want her? She was just another pureblood girl, who – from her showing in Diagon Alley – may be quite powerful but seemed to be in no condition to fight. The girl managed to push the whole alley back, but then just let the aurors take her because she was too upset to properly escape.

Tom was aching to hear more of their conversation, but the loud bustle of the first years coming up the stairs distracted him long enough for Dumbledore and the girl to slip away before he got the chance to hear any more and more importantly before he "randomly" got to introduce himself to the enigma that was Hermione Black.

* * *

The conversation he overheard in the hall had his mind reeling. Tom needed to know more about this stupid girl. She had caused such a fuss that all of the students in the hall were talking about her and even he was unable to take his mind off of her. Orion Black's yammering about how the girl from Diagon Alley couldn't possibly be a Black was driving him up the wall. He was speaking just like Walburga used to – all passion and no logic. It would sway the weaker-minded listeners, but anyone with any sense of logic would see through his bullshit. Tom didn't think that it was worth having things out with Walburga's parrot – while he didn't necessarily need the Black family money, it was always nice to have the power and influence which came with such an old name and Alphard had already proven to be a dud. Alphard stayed as far from politics as he could because, Tom suspected, his views were far more liberal than any of his family would allow. Alphard was by far the smartest and most tolerable of all the Blacks Tom had met so far. While it wasn't much harder to be smarter than Orion, Lucretia and Walburga – as insufferable as they might have been – were whip-smart and the top two in their class before they graduated and Alphard, if he deigned to put any real effort in, could have been too if Tom wasn't there. Even as it currently stood Alphard was third in their class with extremely minimal effort on his part. He stayed to himself for the most part and didn't interject much in conversation. He seemed to prefer the Quidditch pitch to a classroom and his wand over his words. When he did speak, it always drew attention because everyone knew it must be a matter of great importance for him to speak up in front of a crowd.

"Cousin, I do wish you would stop blabbering on about that girl. Why couldn't great-uncle Phineas be her father? It's not like she was some illegitimate child that he hid away from all of us. The family has had no contact with the man since before my father was born."

"Even if she was Phineas' child she has no claim to our name. He was disowned and disinherited, so why would she try to go to Gringotts and get her share of our fortune."

Tom had heard Dumbledore and Hermione in the hallway discussing Gringotts. Had she truly tried to claim some of the Black vaults? If she had, the girl had no tact. If she ever stood a chance of being accepted by the Blacks, her going behind their back to claim their money had ended it.

"Orion, stop behaving like a petulant child and attempting to spread family business about the entirety of the Slytherin table. If you are going to do so then at least make sure the business you are telling is true or at the very least makes sense. First, you claim that she is of no relation, which is untrue. She had the blood test done at Gringotts and she is a Black. I don't know about you, but my father doesn't have any illegitimate children and if yours doesn't either, then she has to be Uncle Phineas' daughter.

"Then, you try to simultaneously argue that she is trying to steal our inheritance, which is once again untrue and conflicts with your earlier story. The girl did not attempt to take any of our money and the goblins confirmed that. Your grandfather made that abundantly clear, the goblins only notified him because she is another Black heir and would, technically, be able to inherit and they wanted to know if he wished to adjust his will. When he inquired about if the girl attempted to make any claim over our current vaults, the goblins told him no. She had other vaults to tend to. For Merlin's sake, Aunt Cassiopeia told us that she is a Kama, which if you remember from our lessons as children, means that she should have more than enough money on her own."

The Slytherin table fell silent when Alphard began berating his cousin. Not only did the tongue-lashing give some of them fuel against Orion, but it gave all of them knowledge about the girl who had been featured on the front page of the Daily Prophet for the past few days. Everyone wondered about who she was and a few Slytherins who had parents that worked at the Prophet had tried to say that she was the daughter of a disgraced Black, but no one had believed them. The Blacks boasted that they knew their family tree back to the dark ages, how would they not know about one of their own having a daughter in France? Yet, Alphard Black had just confirmed those stories and with that unintentionally confirmed the other story attached to that which said she would be coming here. When the first-years began to pile in, everyone's eyes turned to the nervous group but the Slytherins were awaiting her arrival. Tom felt disappointment wash over him for a moment when he realized that she hadn't come in with the group of first-years who were waiting to be sorted. He spent the entirety of the Sorting awaiting her arrival and when Dippet began to speak, he wondered if the staff had decided that it would be best for Hermione to be introduced to the school later on. If that was the case, then the Hogwarts staff would be showing a level of tact that he would have never expected from them otherwise.

"As you all know, there has been a war plaguing the Wizarding community. We, here at Hogwarts, have been lucky enough to be a bit more distanced from the fight than some of the other schools like Durmstrang or Beauxbatons. There they are immersed in a fight and their students may have witnessed many of the horrors of war, but we have avoided that fate. Today, we are doing something that hasn't been done in more than a century – we are accepting a transfer student. I am sure that many of you have seen her in the news, some of you may have been in Diagon Alley the day that she was there. Young Hermione is an incredibly sweet girl who has gone through things I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy, so I beseech you all to be warm and welcoming to her. Help Hogwarts become her new home because the war has taken away the only home she had ever known."

Dumbledore rose while Dippet neared the end of his speech and slipped out of the Great Hall to grab Hermione. Dippet's speech was far more emotional than anything he had ever done in the past and Tom almost felt bad for the girl – not because of what happened during the war, but because Dippet had decided to tell the entire Great Hall about some of her life. This scenario far better suited what he had seen over the staff do during his time at Hogwarts. They did not care for their students’ secrets or embarrassment and they would reveal whatever suited them. Even the little information given about Hermione was far more than Tom would ever be comfortable sharing. That information would be a weakness that the Slytherins would try to exploit.

The Great Hall was dead silent after Dippet finished speaking. Hermione hadn't arrived yet, but with Dumbledore leaving it was clear that she would soon. The anticipation seemed to be building throughout the room, a few first-years had broken the silence by asking what Dippet had meant by war or why they would know the girl. Tom could hear a few older students explaining at the Ravenclaw table. The new Slytherins either knew or were smart enough not to ask. Yet, at all of the other tables, there were hushed whispers which he was sure were mirror images of the conversation he could hear Penelope Clearwater having with a group of young Ravenclaws. All of the whispers came to an abrupt stop when the Great Hall's doors opened.

Dumbledore partially obstructed Tom's view, but he could see the wild curls that he had spotted in Diagon Alley. He had no doubt that this was her, even if he had watched from afar. He found himself wanting to crane his neck like so many of his housemates were doing to try and get a good look. The damn Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs were openly gawking because they could see her so clearly. She and Dumbledore were walking at an even-pace and it was only when Dumbledore stopped to speak that Tom was able to get a good look at her. In this lighting, he realized that Slughorn was right and she was objectively quite pretty, but that wasn't his focus. Her robes obstructed most of his view which was quite disappointing. He could barely see her in Diagon Alley being too far back in the crowd and now that he had gotten a chance to look at her a bit more closely, he couldn't see all of the scars that were featured so prominently on the front page of the Prophet in person. The robes she was wearing covered most of her body and most of her scars.

There were a few scars that were still visible, but one scar, in particular, was on display. Her wild mane was pulled back into a ponytail exposing a stunning set of white lines on the side of her throat. Even from his seat, he could see the sharp contrast between the four white lines and her warm, tawny, brown skin. The marks on her neck almost looked like they had been caused by claws, but what claws would she have come into contact with? Her face looked tight and he wished he was closer so he could see her eyes. The eyes were the windows to the soul and if he got lucky, she wouldn't have any shields up and then maybe he could skim some of her thoughts. Instead, the Slytherins were forced to the far side of the hall and he was left unable to do anything but wait to get closer so he could do a full examination.

"I am sure that Headmaster Dippet explained the unusual predicament we are in, but as deputy Headmaster, it is my duty to conduct the sortings and tonight we do have one last student: Hermione Black."

After she sat, she quickly pulled her hair down as though she knew the hat was about to be placed on her head and that it wouldn’t rest properly without her doing so. Her dark curls covered the current object of Tom's attention, so he tried to focus on her face. She didn't express any outward surprise like most did when the hat was placed on her head. It was a startling event to have a hat talking to you and moving through your mind to decide where you should be placed. She did smile though which was extremely strange because after that smile there was no announcement. Tom didn't know if it was his curiosity that was dragging time on or his impatience to meet her, but he was slightly relieved to find he was not alone. He saw one Slytherin cast a tempus to his left to check just how much time had gone by. Tom's eyes would flicker from the floating time to Hermione.

After her initial smile, her face remained impassive. Every so often she would nod slightly as though she were agreeing with the hat, but no decisions were being made. After the fourth minute had passed, Tom saw the Prewetts taking wagers on which house she would be sorted into. All of it was blind speculation because she was a pureblood, but if the tale about her father was true then she also loved muggles. That could put her in either Slytherin or Gryffindor. If she was as broken as she looked when he saw her last then maybe she would go into Hufflepuff because she just couldn't take it anywhere else or if that spell she did wasn't accidental but intentional then she could be a Ravenclaw because it does take quite a bit of studying to master nonverbal spells. After the fifth minute, people began to wonder if this constituted a hatstall. After the sixth minute, all of the students were convinced it was a hatstall. After the seventh minute, the hat spoke.

* * *

Three hundred and sixty-four days.

For three hundred and sixty-four days a year, three hundred and sixty-five during leap years, he did absolutely nothing. There was a single day a year where he did enough work to exhaust himself. One day where he met children and analyzed every part of their being. One day where he got to know those children better than they knew themselves. It wasn't always like this though, when Salazar and Rowena had created him, he was constantly used. At first, they used him on themselves and others just to make sure that he had the values of each of the founders engrained into his mind and that he was assigning children properly. After he had proven that he worked, they used him whenever they took in new students – which could have been any day of the year. Back then, Hogwarts didn't have a summer break. Back then, Hogwarts ran year-round because it was the safe haven that its students needed. The muggles were vicious and would take out any child who showed the smallest amount of magical ability. Muggleborns stayed at the castle because they had nowhere else to go. Purebloods and half-bloods stayed because they didn't want to miss out on any of their masters' teachings. Godric, Rowena, Salazar, and Helga were all marvels in their own right, but to be taught by all four of them was a privilege that no witch or wizard dared to question. It was simpler back then; all four founders were still there and they could dissuade any myths or rumors themselves.

Now, it was much harder for the Sorting Hat to convince new generations of the true nature of each of the founders. Now, he only had a day to interact with the students and they came in much too young for a true determination to be made. How was he supposed to properly sort children who had no life experiences? It took seeing how a person reacted when confronted with a great loss or a life-or-death situation to know what values were truly at their core. Headmasters had argued with him, tried to tell him that the impression he got from their young minds was the purest impression he would even have. They didn't seem to grasp that purity wasn't the determining factor. It doesn't matter how a child initially feels about something, what matters is if they hold onto those beliefs no matter how much they are tested. It takes awful experiences to shape a person. The hat loved sorting people like that because then their true strengths and weaknesses were revealed. Now most of the children had no life experience and it didn't help that with how long Hogwarts had been open the children were starting to get certain ideas in their mind about what each house was like. Depending on where the student came from, their views of each of the houses could greatly vary. These views resulted in children begging to be in one house or refusing to be in another, and it was getting incredibly hard for the hat to fight them.

They were so young that he couldn't get a true reading, so he oftentimes did take their opinions to heart. The way that their thoughts came rushing into him as he openly pondered which house they should be in seemed to say more about which house they should go to than their lack-luster experiences. A child who questioned why they were meant to be in one house more than another, usually leaned towards Ravenclaw. Children who had no shame openly berating him for his choices without any apology after they realized he had heard all of their thoughts, tended to be Gryffindors. Sometimes things were just that straight-forward, but there were nuances that he had begun to notice. Children with a strong sense of conviction, even if they may not have the courage to act on it quite yet, should be in Gryffindor where that courage would be fostered. Children whose sense of loyalty was so strong that they begged to be in a house with one of their friends or siblings – solely because of their connection with them and no other extenuating forces – were Hufflepuffs through and through. Without experiences, it was their reaction and his own instinct – or the instinct of each of the founders, depending on how you looked at it – that guided him.

The sorting of Hermione Granger had nothing to do with instinct.

When he was placed atop Hermione Granger's head, the Sorting Hat had quite a shock. She was no child and, for the first time ever, he had sorted her before – even if this version of him hadn't.

"Ms. Granger, I would say it's lovely to meet you again, but I'm afraid that encounter hasn't taken place quite yet."

It was quite beautiful how much control she had over her thoughts when he spoke. Most people just kept a steady stream of consciousness – processing what he said and replying without realizing that they had done so. Ms. Granger, on the other hand, replied like this was a true conversation. She didn't linger on his words, she just replied to him.

"I'd daresay that's lucky for you. I'm sure you can see how many questions I asked your future-self," Hermione was sure that a small smile had crept onto her lips at the memory of her first sorting.

"Ahh yes, it seems as though I debated on which house to put you in for a short while. What did we narrow it down to then," The hat paused for a moment replaying the memory for himself "Yes, that's it, you were bound to be Ravenclaw or Gryffindor back then."

"Back then? Is it different now?"

"Of course, it's different now Ms. Granger. You are a woman-grown and you have lived through a war. I would have been quite disappointed if nothing changed for you in all that time."

Yes, she was an interesting case. He had finally been given what he had asked for all these years, but with her, it was so much more complicated. She had been fostered as a lion and her traits had begun to grow as such, but then the war came and she was forced to take on so many contradicting attributes.

"What, in your opinion, has changed?"

"Almost everything my dear. Ravenclaw would never be a fit for you now. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin – those are the places where you might belong."

Hermione's thoughts ran slightly away from her as she shot out questions after each of his statements.

"Why wouldn't I be a Ravenclaw? How on earth am I a Hufflepuff?! And what has changed so much that I may no longer be a Gryffindor?"

The hat chuckled softly and began running through her questions.

"You are no Ravenclaw because emotions dictate everything you do. Yes, you do question every aspect of life, but a curious mind can be held by any of the houses. Your thirst for knowledge has never been just for the sake of knowledge. You recognize the power that knowledge holds and that is why you want it. That in combination with that fiery temper of yours instantly rules out Ravenclaw."

That hat paused for a moment allowing the meaning of what he said to sink into her mind. She, surprisingly, did not argue with any of the points he made and so he continued.

"Now Hufflepuff isn't the weak house you believe. I can see that boy Cedric you knew was a Hufflepuff and he was no little flower. Integrity and loyalty guide a true Hufflepuff and you are loyal to a fault. For the girl who refused to fly an airplane with her parents because "man was not made to be that high off the ground" you blindly followed Harry into situations far more dangerous than that. You fought for him with every ounce of your being and you would have gone mad before revealing any of his secrets. You knew what Bellatrix's torture had done to Neville's parents, yet you kept your mouth shut. You even had the audacity to lie straight to her face knowing that the consequences may cost you your life. That moment alone embodies everything that Helga stood for, but your integrity since then has taken a bit of a dip which means maybe Hufflepuff isn't the place for you."

"So why not Gryffindor? It only makes sense. I am a Gryffindor through and through."

"It isn't that Gryffindor is a bad fit for you – as a matter of a fact, Gryffindor is a good fit for you – but it's that Gryffindor isn't the best fit for you. In your time, it was the right choice because you still had to grow. You would be unable to fight the prejudices you would have faced in Slytherin and that could have crushed your young spirit or taken you down a darker path, but now it seems as though it is the only fitting house. While you show characteristics of the other houses, the war has made it so Slytherin is your true home. Everything you have done to get here has displayed extreme cunning and your ambition has only grown. If that's not enough, remember why you are here. You are here to save the world from Voldemort whether that means saving or killing Tom Riddle. It would be much harder to observe Mr. Riddle if the two of you were placed in different houses. If you want to attract his attention, then you have to be near him – no matter how hard it may be."

He said what Hermione should have expected all along, but there was something about hearing that she had to be a Slytherin out loud that made it hit home just a bit more. It felt like a betrayal to switch houses at all – let alone to become a bloody Slytherin.

The hat returned her back to the Great Hall and allowed her to catch her bearings before making its announcement. The hall seemed to be a combination of curiosity, awe, and boredom which was pretty similar to the last time she had been sorted. Last time, it had taken four and a half minutes for the hat to decide between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. Hermione hated to think how long she had been under while the hat worked out where she belonged between Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, and Slytherin. Although she was beginning to believe that the hat's explanation was just to make her feel better about the house he was going to scream at the top of his lungs.

"It'll be…" All eyes fixed on her once more as the hat had uttered its first words in seven minutes and twenty-one seconds, "SLYTHERIN!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who would like to nerd out a bit on some of the details of the fic, the reason why Hermione is so compatible with so many wands is not because she is just so powerful that she can do whatever she pleases (I did make her pretty powerful in this, but that's not the case here). She is compatible with all of the wands because of the ritual that she performed and how many types of magic she had within her right now. The characteristics of her own magic, the Black magic, the Potter magic, and Lily's magic fit just about every single combination of wand there is that is separately. The reason why some of the wands "didn't feel right" is because her own magic (which is the largest piece of magic within her) or the Black and Potter magic (the second and third largest pieces) were not compatible with that wand even though one of the other types of magic might be.


	5. Introductions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it's been so long my lovelies. Covid and school have been a nightmare, but I am back. I've got some ideas for how to continue and I hope that you all like this chapter. Thank you all.

> "Have you ever analyzed things to the degree where you can't really remember the difference between what's real and what you've created in your head?" - Edie Sedgwick 

After the Sorting Hat's proclamation, there was a stunned silence before Slughorn let out a gleeful chuckle and slapped Albus on the shoulder.

"Ah Albus, seems that I've caught another great one," Slughorn's words lingered for a moment and all eyes had shifted from Hermione to the potbellied potions professor and the ginger transfiguration professor who just oozed power. The Prewett brothers would swear that Albus didn't do anything until Hermione sent him a wink, but the truth of the matter was that Hermione was already making her way over to the Slytherin table while Albus just let out a light chuckle of his own and began clapping. The soft claps of the Gryffindor Head of House reminded the little lions that they too should be clapping out of courtesy and in a matter of seconds - all four houses were going through the motions and clapping their hands.

Hermione noted that there was small applause at the other three tables and a bit louder applause at the Slytherin table. There was no whooping and hollering like she would have been greeted with if she had gone to Gryffindor again, but Hermione had expected as much. The Slytherins were a bit more reserved, they refused to let themselves be made fools of. Hermione had also expected several sneers to be directed her way from either purebloods who hated the fact that she had claimed the Black name or racists who simply didn't like her darker complexion and natural curls. The only thing that slightly surprised her was how each table so blatantly stared when she got closer. She had done her best to cover her scars and keep her magic in check, yet there was still something that must have stood out because as each house stared to the point that they stopped applauding before going back to clapping as though nothing had happened before she reached the Slytherin table. 

Admittedly, Hermione felt like a first-year again when she began scanning the table. She was far too old to sit with the young children but where should she go. It seemed as though the older students clustered together towards the back of the Great Hall as far away from the professors as possible, which gave her more time but how was she supposed to know who would allow her to sit and who wouldn't. If her mother had taught her one thing, first impressions were important and she couldn't be seen getting turned away as soon as she attempted to sit down. Given her lack of standing in the Hogwarts hierarchy, such a slight would reflect poorly on her, not on those who rejected her - at least, for the time being. While Hermione scanned the crowds attempting to place familiar features with families and what she knew - she spotted a head of silky, black waves and stunningly grey eyes. There was a curiosity in those eyes that reminded her of Sirius as he stared at his motorbike whenever one of the enchantments wore off. 

The familiarity that those eyes bred had Hermione striding over, taking only a few moments to survey those around him. Only a few seats down, she spotted another aristocratic male - this time with black waves cut short and grey eyes filled with the same sort of madness she saw in Bellatrix's eyes as she stood above her, knife dripping with blood after carving "Mudblood" into Hermione's arm. With a few deep breaths, Hermione steeled herself and attempted to do the math to determine which members of the Black family would have been at Hogwarts in Lord Voldemort's seventh year. Recalling the Black Family tree provided Hermione a brief reprieve from the haunting image of Bellatrix that seemed to appear whenever her mind wandered and allowed Hermione to determine that the two men were likely Orion and Alphard Black. Based on Sirius's stories, Hermione had a feeling that it was the smiling face of one Alphard Black who looked stunningly similar to a young Sirius that had her approaching.

Tom's eyes widened at the hat's proclamation, but he wasn't complaining. The closer the girl was, the more he could learn about her. As she walked towards the Slytherin table, he was finally able to see her without anything else in the way. She carried herself proudly indicating that she had been raised as the pureblood princess she was supposed to be, but there was a fire in her eyes that left him wondering just how much she went through. She looked as though she could decimate everyone at the table with a single glare and she was doing them all a favor by deciding not to do so. She was heading straight towards his section of the table and Tom prepared his largest grin for her. Her eyes seemed to soften a bit and she gave a small smile herself. When she reached out her hand, Tom prepared to grab it – fantastically glad that his good looks were already doing most of the work for him – but then he recognized that her hand was not extended to him. She was holding her hand out to Alphard fucking Black.

Hermione hadn’t meant to ignore Tom Riddle at first. She simply couldn’t help herself from approaching the man who appeared to be Sirius’ twin. It was only after Hermione extended her hand to Alphard, that she noticed Tom Riddle. She recognized the overly perfect boy from the countless photos she had reviewed when examining his life. In the photos, he was truly the picture of perfection. Now, she could see the annoyance creeping into his eyes. He did his best to cover it quickly when he noticed her eyes had shifted his way, choosing to flash her a stunning grin that was intended to hide any semblance of annoyance from his face. She wondered how often he did that. She assumed that he would have perfected the skill by now. Most people weren’t very observant in the first place, so he probably got away with it. Before the war, Hermione had to admit that she probably wouldn’t have noticed either. He was quite quick about covering any negative emotions but living for a year on the run made Hermione so paranoid that she rarely missed a single detail. The smart thing to do would have been to appease Tom, but Hermione didn’t know if she could right now.

Seeing Tom in person was nothing like all the research she had done. He wasn’t a broken child anymore, he was almost of age, and he had committed numerous atrocities at this point – he had murdered at least half a dozen people by now. Seeing him like this, knowing what he was capable of, Hermione realized that her residual anger and pain from the war still lingered and she wouldn’t mind throwing a curse or two his way. She couldn’t do that though, she had to channel Narcissa. She couldn’t go around cursing everyone who angered her, especially if she wasn’t supposed to know them yet. Instead of blowing her cover, Hermione decided that there was a more subtle way to attack Riddle and that was to disregard him entirely. Men, muggle, or wizard, were always the same. Each male friend group had an alpha and the best way to undermine that group was for a female to disregard the alpha entirely. If a female turned her attention to the beta, the entire power structure would come into question, which would drive the alpha mad. Tom was obviously the alpha, all Hermione had to do was determine the beta.

“Cousin Alphard I presume,” Alphard would be her in. He would be how she weaseled her way into the group and, if he was anything like Sirius described, he would be her best chance at any external protection against Tom. “It’s nice to finally meet you, may I take a seat?”

All of the eyes at the Slytherin table were locked in on Hermione. She was supposedly exiled from the Black family, but she immediately approached the highest-ranking Black at the table. Better yet, Orion seemed to be positively fuming by her approach and Tom Riddle hadn’t taken his eyes off the girl since she had walked in. Alphard smiled, began to nod, and opened his mouth to reply but Tom decided that it was his turn to cut in.

“Stunning women like you are always welcome to sit with us,” Tom convinced himself that Hermione was simply too excited to see her long-lost cousin that she hadn’t noticed him at first. His charm had never failed him before and it wouldn’t fail him now. Soon enough she would have a faint blush coloring her cheeks and she would be throwing herself at his feet. “I’m sure that Abraxas and Thoros will slide over to give you a spot.”

Tom’s command was disguised as a soft suggestion, but both boys knew the consequences if they didn’t obey. Thoros Nott slid to the side without a word, while Abraxas Malfoy gave Hermione a quick once over and the signature Malfoy smirk.

“Hello love, I’m Abraxas Malfoy. The oaf to your left is Thoros Nott and the man who just offered you a seat is our illustrious Head Boy, Tom Riddle.”

Hermione gave a smile and a nod to Thoros and Tom, deciding that Abraxas must be the beta. Abraxas had insulted Thoros without missing a beat and the poor boy hadn’t even reacted to it – indicating that it must be commonplace. Abraxas also had an extremely large fortune at his disposal which would make him invaluable to Tom. Hermione wasn’t sure if the Black fortune or the Malfoy fortune was larger, but from what she remembered it took Tom a bit longer to sway the Blacks into giving him access to their pocketbooks because Sirius the first was still the patriarch of the family and refused to allow the family money to go towards any bad investments and a half-blood with no family name was a bad investment. Alphard and Orion were technically her cousins anyway, so flirting with them would not be very effective. Abraxas was her target and, from the greedy eyes he was giving her, she could tell that she was his.

“Cousin, are you sure that it’s okay for me to be sitting here? I know that some of our family thinks that my father’s actions define who I am,” Hermione had to keep herself from laughing as Alphard’s eyes flickered over to the man who had reminded her of Bellatrix far more than she would have liked, the man who could only be Orion Black. “But I’d hope that you can look past that.”

Alphard nodded at her, “Of course, cousin.”

“Your dear cousin is not a man of many words. If you are looking for conversation, it’d be best to look someplace else,” Tom’s tone was slightly clipped, and his frustration was slowly growing. Hermione hadn’t spared him a glance since Abraxas had introduced him. After Tom spoke, Hermione’s eyes narrowed and she responded in turn.

“And where are you suggesting I look, Riddle? To you?” Her tone was significantly sharper than it had been before. “Riddle’s not a wizarding name that I’ve heard of. My father hadn’t been back to England since before my birth and my mother never left France, maybe they just forgot about it in my studies? Would you care to enlighten me?”

Hermione’s little outburst could be taken in many different ways. She could be seen as defending her family, looking down upon lesser bloodlines, or both. Every option benefited the persona Hermione was cultivating for herself. Hermione swore that she saw his blue eyes flash red and she braced herself for what might come next. Their eyes locked, and Tom saw his opportunity. He slowly began to dip into her mind but he couldn’t get anything out of her. She didn’t even look like she was trying to keep him out. His hand was creeping towards his wand and the temptation to curse her until her shields broke was high, but they were in a public place and he couldn’t expose himself because of one pureblooded little bitch.

Abraxas, being the good dog he was, felt the tension mounting between them and quickly intervened. He placed a hand on Hermione’s shoulder gently, drawing her attention to him.

“You grew up in France, didn’t you? I have a few ancestral manors there.”

Hermione kept up a brief conversation with Abraxas about where his ancestral manors were, what his experiences were there, and recommended which shops he should try next time he visited. She smiled and answered every question he asked, adding in a few of her own, but she barely paid attention to the conversation. Most of her energy was spent observing everyone else at the table. Abraxas demanded the most attention. He looked far more like Lucius than Draco. His skin was considerably darker than Draco’s alabaster tone which made his platinum hair even more noticeable. The slicked back undercut which he sported accentuated his face. His jaw, like his son’s, was incredibly square but he was free of the heavy wrinkles which had burdened Lucius. He had small scars on either side of his face, which when taken in with his broader frame gave him a more rugged look. Hermione didn’t even have to look at his hands to know that they were calloused from Quidditch. Abraxas Malfoy was a beater if she had ever seen one – brash and big.

While Abraxas kept everyone near them engaged, Thoros was there every step of the way with a sly comment under his breath. The boy was quicker than Hermione initially thought, but he spoke so softly that she was sure only she could hear. It did make sense that he wouldn’t want Abraxas to hear the comments he was making. While Abraxas was twice Thoros’ size, Hermione knew that wasn’t the concern. Abraxas could decimate Thoros socially. While they were both a part of the Sacred 28, the Nott family still paled in comparison to the Malfoy family. Hermione assumed that Thoros associated with Abraxas because their fathers made them. She didn’t see a world where Thoros and Abraxas naturally flocked to one another. Their reactions to her throughout the conversation showed how drastically different they were. Abraxas saw her as a pretty pureblood who he could bed and, potentially, wed. Thoros recognized the threat that she posed. He was careful about how he interacted with her. Hermione was positive that he hadn’t meant for her to hear his comments and he hadn’t said two words to her otherwise unless directly prompted.

Neither Abraxas nor Thoros surprised Hermione though. While they may look different than Theo and Draco, the way that the pairs interacted with one another was quite similar. Admittedly, Theo and Draco did get quite a bit closer as school went on – the same could not be said for Thoros and Abraxas. Hermione shuddered at the thought of this dynamic being the improved dynamic. No, she was surprised by Alphard. While he and Sirius were mirror images of one another, their personalities differed drastically. Sirius, even after spending twelve years in Azkaban, had no qualms speaking his mind to whoever he came across. When given the chance to talk about himself, Sirius would spend the whole night detailing his life if he could. Whereas Alphard would barely elaborate on any questions that she asked him. She did her best to draw him into the conversation, but he was far too cautious to speak. She was unsure if Alphard was just wary of her being there or if he simply did not want all of Slytherin to hear him speak. Somehow, she would have to get Alphard alone to see how he was in one on one situations. Alphard obviously had somewhat of a heart because he did write Sirius into his will and he had allowed her to sit with him. Orion clearly would not have allowed her to sit if Tom hadn’t interfered, which made her wonder how far Tom’s influence spread. There wasn’t much written about his school years, the few accounts that Hermione had read were extremely biased. She knew that most people didn’t suspect him, but she needed to know the general attitude toward him. How good was Tom at hiding that darkness within to the general populous? Was he this master manipulator or did he just get lucky by limiting his interactions and sucking up to the teachers? Plenty of powerful wizards faded into infamy, so what was so different about Tom Riddle? Hermione needed to figure him out.

* * *

Tom Riddle would be damned if he let some silly, little girl show up and question him. He had cultivated his image for the past six years and he had become the king. He started slowly, establishing dominance in his grade through shows of power. After his magic grew, Tom started taking on the upperclassmen and by the time he was in his third year, his place was solidified. He had played his role and allowed the older Slytherins to keep their place in the hierarchy, but they knew that was only because he had allowed it. No one dared to question him in his house and outside of his house he was just the smart, friendly head boy. Slytherins knew to keep their mouths shut and wouldn’t dream of taking any issue to a professor because they knew their house would shun them. Other houses were much weaker, and they would run to tell a teacher immediately, which just wouldn’t do. Dumbledore would use anything to expel him. He didn’t know why, but Dumbledore had always been able to see past his façade. No matter how much charm he put on or how hard he tried in class, Tom could never win Dumbledore over. Fifth-year he had convinced everyone that it was Hagrid who caused Myrtle’s death, but Dumbledore knew. His cover story could be flawless and Dumbledore would always know. Because of that Dumbledore had spent the past six years attempting to undermine his control. Dumbledore had never succeeded, so this girl wouldn’t either. He didn’t care what family she came from, her magic would undoubtedly pale in comparison to his, and he would put her in her place.

For some reason, her comments had flipped a switch within him that hadn’t been activated in years. Whenever someone was disrespectful, he imagined all the ways that he could curse them, but he never did it in the moment. He was smarter than that. He had to pick the proper time and place to exact his revenge, he couldn’t afford to make mistakes. When Hermione questioned what family he was from, there was just so much disdain and disgust in her eyes while her tone held an incredible amount of condescension and he almost lost it. His hand had moved to his wand and _Crucio_ was coming to the forefront of his mind, but then Abraxas spoke. Abraxas’ voice knocked Tom out of the trance that he had been. He would have to reward his right-hand man later. Everything could have been ruined because of this stuck-up girl. In the dorms, he would have free reign. He could section her off and teach her a lesson. Yes, that’s what he would do. He would teach her a lesson, obliviate her, and let that lingering fear plague her mind for a while. It was beautiful how a simple _obliviate_ could fix everything. If she did prove to be worthy then he would take his time and woo her, but for now, she was not worth it. Tom was sure that the magic he had seen in Diagon Alley was just a fluke. An upset child could have done something like that if pushed far enough and if she was mistreated in France then it would make sense that her magic would let off one last massive defense before she collapsed. A girl this infuriating could not, would not be anywhere near where he was in power. He rarely made mistakes, but his initial thoughts of her were wrong.

She spent the rest of dinner in shallow conversation with the people around her. Tom thought that the girl must be quite dense because she continuously attempted to pull Alphard into the conversation. Any intelligent person would see that Alphard was not the conversational type and he only spoke when he wanted to speak. She also seemed to be falling for all of Abraxas’ tricks. Her hands were brushing Abraxas’ toned arms and she laughed at all of his jokes. Tom had seen hundreds of women throwing themselves at Abraxas and while they were all idiots, none of them irked him like this. Most of them just fell in line and swooned over Tom too. He was an attractive man and he knew that, but Abraxas could grant a woman more status than he could now. Pureblooded women fawned over Abraxas in public because they knew they could be his bride, but it was Tom who they ran to in private. Most pureblood girls just chose to do the best they could to ignore Tom when they were in front of people, but their attempts to hide their affections were incredibly weak in public and as soon as they were alone with him, they begged for the chance to be with him. Yet, here Hermione was pawing Abraxas in public and barely sparing a glance at Tom. All of the other girls threw longing looks his way over Abraxas’ shoulders, but whenever Tom caught Hermione’s eye her gaze sharpened a bit and he knew that if he were a weaker man he would have looked away. He repeatedly attempted to get into her mind when their eyes did lock, but it was like there was nothing there. He had never encountered someone like this because this wasn’t regular occlumency. She didn’t have walls that kept him out like other people, there was no barrier that he was running into, her mind was just this abyss. There was nothing for him there, nothing he could latch onto and attack. At first, Tom thought that maybe the spell wasn’t quite strong enough, but the next time he cast – albeit, wordless – he put as much energy as he could into it and he still got nothing. He would have to try casting the spell on her normally to see if maybe something was off with his wordless casting, but he suspected that he would not be met with any different results.

His frustration with her was ever-growing and he decided that he was going to make life a little more difficult for her. He plastered on his innocent, curiosity-filled face, and put on his softest tone so he could ask, “I know that this might be a sensitive topic for you, but may I ask why you were allowed to transfer? I understand that there is a war going on, but surely there are countless students who were put into similar situations. Why were you the only one they allowed into Hogwarts?”

Tom hoped that his question would make Hermione show a bit of emotion. She seemed quite thick beforehand, so she would hopefully just fall right into his little trap. The other seventh year girls would eat Hermione alive if they saw any signs of weakness, which would make Hermione an easier target for whatever Tom decided to do with her. Tom found that he was wrong about Hermione again though, instead of letting sadness creep into her features, Hermione’s eyes turned hard and she held his gaze as she spoke. The conversations near them had stopped, Slytherins always had a sense of when juicy information might come out, and, without breaking Hermione’s gaze, Tom knew that all eyes were on her.

“Well, _Riddle_ ,” She dragged his name out and Tom was sure that it was just another dig at his blood status. The insult made Tom’s mind flash to how quickly he could change that tone. If he had one night with her, he wouldn’t be Riddle anymore. She would grovel at his feet and call him “my lord,” she would be beneath him where she belonged. “I’m not sure how much you know about the war, but Durmstrang and Beauxbatons are currently safe from Grindelwald. While the rest of Europe has become his playground, the schools seem safe for now. The issue is that I did not go to either of those schools, which means that I was not granted the same safety. While I’m sure that either school would have taken me, there was no reason for me to remain there anymore. My family is Britain, so that’s where I went.”

Merlin, she was patronizing. Of course, he knew about the war, he knew about both wars. He was forced to live in that damned Orphanage as they bombed Britain. He read the papers and knew about Grindelwald and the radicals that he had gained around him. He knew about all of it and he wouldn’t have this curly-haired bimbo questioning him about that, especially since she was just using all of that to avoid his question.

“Pardon me Ms. Black, but that still doesn’t explain why Hogwarts allowed you to come. What makes you so different?”

Instead of glaring at him as he expected, Hermione let out a small laugh as she shook her head – Tom decided that he preferred the glare.

“I would have assumed you could have guessed that after all, I’m on the front page of every paper here. All it took was a meeting with the Minister and Headmaster Dippet and I was officially enrolled.”

The small smile on her face showed that she clearly thought she had won and, if Tom were younger, he might have flushed with embarrassment at her point because on the surface that was what it looked like. He needed to get her to take about Dumbledore though, they spoke with such familiarity in the hall and he knew that Dumbledore played a bigger role in this than she was letting on.

“Speaking of the paper, maybe I’m just a bit confused but how did you end up in Diagon Alley in the first place? Where were you trying to go?”

Hermione had the good sense to let her face fall just a bit and soften her voice slightly. While the Slytherins weren’t an extremely sympathetic lot, she saw that some of the Ravenclaws were not so discreetly listening to this conversation too and Ravenclaws were the worst gossip of the lot, so she could garner quite a bit of sympathy from the rest of the school with this.

“Honestly, I was just trying to get out of where I was. They had taken my wand, my parents were dead, the friends that I was fighting with had just been killed, and I knew that I was next. All I could think about was getting away from that and saving myself, so when one of the men tried to grab me I took his wand and attempted to apparate away. I didn’t have a clear place in mind, all I could think about was Uncle Albus, and then I was in the middle of Diagon Alley surrounded by all of these strange people.”

Hermione took long pauses between her words and even threw in a couple of “calming” breaths for show, hoping that her emotion sold it, but Tom didn’t pay attention to any of that. He was caught up on the words _Uncle Albus,_ surely she couldn’t mean Dumbledore but that would also explain how she had been admitted so quickly. Luckily, Orion Black took this as his chance to speak with an incredulous look on his face.

“Uncle Albus? As in Albus Dumbledore? We Blacks have no relation to the Dumbledores.”

Orion thought he had caught the girl, that he was finally going to prove that she had no true link to the Ancient and Noble House of Black, but Hermione nodded and continued on as though she were describing the day instead of telling them that she was related to one of the most powerful wizards that any of them had met.

“Yes, my Uncle Albus is Professor Dumbledore. We aren’t related by blood, but he is my godfather. Now that my parents are gone, he’s become my official guardian though that won’t matter much because I’ll be of age by the time we graduate. It’s just nice to have someone I know close.”

Hermione hadn’t planned on dropping this bomb right away, but it was just another dig at Riddle that she couldn’t resist taking. Albus Dumbledore was the bane of his existence and now he found out that she was his goddaughter. Obviously, she was playing with fire here. Tom already disliked her and either finding out this information would drive Tom to action or it would temper him as Dumbledore was probably the only person on this planet that Tom feared. It was a fifty-fifty shot, but Hermione was a bit too reckless not to take it. With this new magic flowing in her veins, Hermione’s reckless tendencies had been exaggerated. Potter and Black magic loved the idea of a fight and that had infused into her already quick-tempered magic, so it wasn’t that surprising that she was taking more risks than she used to. Her magic was aching to be worked out again, she hadn’t had much time to herself to work out some of the kinks. If she verbally said a spell with her wand it was still far too powerful, she had tempered some of her nonverbal magic, and her wandless magic was in check both verbal and non, but if she was agitated that all went out the window. All she wanted right now was an excuse to let her magic run free, she could feel it building up inside of her as her anger grew. Tom was attempting to trap her, he thought that she was too stupid to play the game. All of them seemed to think she was an idiot, but that just wouldn’t do. All it would take is one little show of power in front of a crowd and then they wouldn’t question her again. She had heard the people around her questioning if what happened in Diagon Alley was a fluke or not. If she showed them it wasn’t, then she would establish her position. Initially, she planned to blend in but with her entrance, there was no blending in and she had to stand out if she wanted to rally support away from Tom.

* * *

Tom had gone back and forth with himself the entire night on whether or not he should send his boys after Hermione. She was Dumbledore’s goddaughter, which introduced a new complication and explained her dislike for him, but that did mean that she probably had even more value than he first thought. She had infuriated him all throughout dinner and he sorely needed to curse someone, it would be best if that someone was her. He wanted her begging at his feet, pleading for mercy, and then he would give her the chance to tell him all her secrets before he cursed her some more. Hermione was far too confident for her own good and he had to take her down a few notches. He couldn’t allow her to continue down this path of flaunting his authority. She was a woman. He could not let a woman question him, if he allowed that then all of his followers would start questioning him and that would be a major issue. He could also throw Orion a bone by allowing him to be one of the ones to capture the girl. Tom was sure that Orion was aching to curse the girl after she made him look like such a fool at dinner. He wouldn’t be able to send his inner circle on the off chance that someone did see them taking her. He needed big names that would be able to take the fall and Orion already had a built-in motive. Reginus Lestrange was also particularly ruthless, needed no excuse for a fight, and had befriended Orion because the Blacks and Lestranges were currently working on a new partnership. If he was going to do it, this would be the way.

Hermione was making her approach back to the dungeons after sneaking off to the kitchens. She couldn’t eat much at once anymore, but she needed to regain her strength so she grabbed some food that she would be able to snack on throughout the night. Her current plan was to invest in some strengthening solution or at least the ingredients to it next time she went to Hogsmeade, so she could get back to her normal weight. While she had put on a little weight since the war, she was nowhere near back to normal and that may not end up affecting the strength of her magic, but it could definitely affect her endurance. She wasn’t sitting in her room all day reading books and practicing spells on and off, she was going to spend every single day in close quarters with the dark lord. While he may not be at full strength yet, he was strong that much she knew. She couldn’t let herself slack off on regaining her strength as she had before. She was not dealing with a little baby as she had initially planned, she was dealing with a teenage dark lord and however many goons he might have at this time.

She had shoved all of her food into her pockets and was carefully making her way through the halls, not wanting to run into a prefect or a professor on her first night there. It was just past curfew and admittedly she didn’t really know the best route back to the dungeons. She maneuvered down the stairs slowly, careful to not create too much noise in fear of alerting those who were patrolling of her position or worse letting Peeves know that she was there. She knew how to curse him now, but that damned ghost was so loud that half of the castle would know she was out walking around before she got the chance to freeze him in place. Luckily, she had made it through the castle without incident. She assumed that most of the prefects were a bit behind on their patrols because of the first-year speeches they had to give and that made it quite easy for her to sneak all the way down to the dungeons. She was almost home free, one more corner to turn, and then she would be fine, but she heard voices.

“Where is the little bitch?”

“I don’t know, the girls said that she set her stuff in the dorms and headed out without another word. It’s after curfew so you know she has to be coming back soon. We’ll get her when she does, don’t worry Orion.”

Of fucking course, Orion Black would be waiting for her. While Hermione didn’t know for certain that they were talking about her, she highly doubted that Orion Black would be waiting up for anyone else. She had half a mind to curse them right now, but these idiots were talking freely and might reveal some helpful information plus if she got caught, she needed to be able to say they attempted to curse her first.

“I’m sick and tired of waiting. I should have just cursed her at dinner for trying to make a claim to my fucking inheritance, but of course, _he_ had to jump in and protect her.”

“Don’t forget that he sent us after her tonight, said we can do whatever we like to the pretty little bint as long as it isn’t permanent.”

“I want to make her bleed. I think that’s fitting since she tried to say she was my blood. We could slash her up and leave her as a warning. Doesn’t that sound nice Reggie?”

“Just don’t cut up her face, I like my girls pretty when I break them in. She seems like she’d be a fun one to break in, those prim and proper types always end up begging for more.”

Hermione had heard enough, it was obvious that the two were only going to fantasize about hurting her for the rest of the night and they had already told her what she needed to know – Tom was behind this. Before Orion could say another word she walked around the corner, pretending that she hadn’t heard their entire conversation. She gave the boys a light smile when she noticed them, mainly because she knew this would be her chance to let her magic run free. The adrenaline was already coursing through her veins and her entire body was crackling as her magic grew within.

“Oy, if it ain’t the little bitch who thinks she can claim my family name.”

Hermione cocked a brow at Orion, but let a small smirk slip onto her lips.

“Cousin, I’d be careful if I were you. You don’t want to do anything you’ll regret.”

Orion’s fist clenched around his wand and he stalked towards her, wand pointed right at her chest.

“Don’t call me cousin you lowbred bitch. Now you’re going to come with me if you know what’s good for ya.”

Hermione shook her head softly, positive that she was grinning from ear to ear. She could feel her magic expanding around her and if Orion was smart at all he would feel it too and run.

“Cousin, if anyone is lowbred here it’s you. The Kama line is much older than the _McMillans,”_ Hermione let the disdain drip off of her tongue and Orion sprung right into action.

“You fucking bitch!” He was basically screaming now, which was a bit concerning because it would draw more attention to them than Hermione had planned, but Orion was like putty in her hands. He was doing basically everything she wanted him to and as he waved his wand, she knew that she was in the clear.

“Cru-“ Before Orion could get the full word out, Hermione had already begun a string of jinxes to incapacitate him. _Expelliarmus._ Orion flew back, crashing into the wall, and his wand went straight to Hermione’s hand. _Incarcerous._ Tight ropes wrapped themselves around Orion’s body as he called her all sorts of names. _Silencio._ Orion continuously attempted to scream but found that no sound was coming out. _Engorgio Skullus._ Orion’s head began to double and then triple in size.

“Now your head is just as big as your ego is, cousin. Next time-“ A flash of red light shot towards Hermione, but a simple _Protego_ deflected the spell and Hermione turned her attention to the Lestrange boy.

“I don’t know who you are, but I don’t think it’s proper to curse a woman when she is talking to her family, do you?” Lestrange shot off another spell at Hermione which simply sidestepped. “Not to mention that you boys were going to gang up on one poor little girl weren’t you?” Reginus tried a darker curse this time, Hermione deflected it with a wandless and nonverbal _protego_. “I hate to think how many other girls you’ve done this to, probably girls far weaker than I. You seem like a bit of a bully and do you want to know something?” Reginus’ eyes were frantic and he was firing off all of the curses that he could think of while Hermione hadn’t broken a sweat choosing to sidestep or deflect all of them.

“I don’t like bullies.” She said as she waved her hand with _Levicorpus_ at the front of her mind. Lestrange flew into the air by his ankles and began flailing about. Hermione plucked his wand out his hands and took Orion’s as well. Hermione walked up to the portrait and whispered the password before turning back to look at the two boys – one silenced and tied up with a giant head, the other swinging back and forth as he hung by his ankles begging for her to let him down.

“I’ll leave these in the common room for you boys. If you try anything like this again, I won’t be as nice.”

* * *

Hermione should have known that Tom would send his goons after her. She hated to admit it, but there was a small part of her that hoped Tom himself would have come after her. It would have been extremely satisfying to put the _Dark Lord_ in his place – that was if she could. Her new magic was inflating her ego a bit and the rational side of her was having a difficult time winning out. She was still plotting, she always made sure to think ten steps ahead, but there was a lot more violence in the way she was planning things out now. She didn’t know if it was the rush of the ritual to get her here or the new magic rushing through her veins that was amplifying this violent, reckless side of her personality - either way she had to figure out how to calm herself down. She couldn’t sway Riddle if he hated her. Her entire mission was a lot harder if the perfect head boy decided to isolate her in public and attack her in private. While she may be strong, she wasn’t entirely certain that she was stronger than him and Hermione had never been one to win people over. She wasn’t as charismatic as Tom, there was no question in her mind about that, and her “family” name would only take her so far. She could hope to win over Alphard and get an audience with Sirius I, but there was no guarantee with that. If Orion was the favorite, then she had no chance of winning any favor with the Black family. If Orion hadn’t hated her before tonight, he definitely did now.

She should have left those boys alone, they were just following orders, but there was just something about the way they were talking that made her snap. She couldn’t be sure if it was the Lestrange boy’s underlying message of rape that drove her over the edge or if it was the thought of Orion slicing her open. The last time she had been under the knife had not ended well for her – she still had the scars to show for it. Of course, she would have to come up for a cover for Bellatrix’s little gift because that nasty little cursed blade left a scar that refused to be covered. She had half a mind to just embrace the scar, but she needed people to believe her story first. She had enough Black family magic in her to pass any paternity tests, but if someone tried to see her family tree – a nasty piece of blood magic that she wouldn’t put past any of the Blacks or Tom Riddle – then she was fucked. There were a few different scenarios that could play out – it could show her muggle family, which would instantly blow her cover, it could show Harry’s family, which would draw a lot of questions because it would include Blacks and Potters who hadn’t been born yet, or it could be limited to this time period and even then Hermione didn’t know exactly how that would work out. The rituals she had used were so old that there weren’t very many records she could follow to see how every single spell would react. None of this would have come into question if she could have just performed the damned time travel ritual right. She wouldn’t have to worry about Tom second-guessing her at every turn because she would have been all he had ever known. She could have raised him right and called Dumbledore out on his shit right away, instead, Tom was forced to live through years of abuse at the damned muggle orphanage, neglect by the one person he had looked up to, and he had, once again, found solace in the idea of fanatics like Slytherin and Grindelwald who used their power and persuasion to create carnage and chaos so they could gain control.

Hermione Granger was utterly fucked. She had buggered up her first meeting with Tom Riddle and ostracized two of his followers already. How on Earth was she supposed to fix this mess? She couldn’t help but scold herself for acting just like Harry. She was going off instinct, not intuition and definitely not logic. She had to learn how to calm her magic, so she could stop making such rash decisions. Here she was, after curfew, pacing around the Slytherin common room with food stuffed in her robe pockets and a wand clutched in each hand – neither wand being hers. Not only did Hermione have to figure out how to clean up the mess she made tonight, she had to figure out where she would be putting the two idiots’ wands. She had taken them for show anyway, she didn’t really need to keep them away from the boys. _Levicorpus_ was a spell of Professor Snape’s creation, which meant that it wouldn’t be invented for at least another thirty years so there was no chance that either boy would know the counter-jinx. Bloody hell, she might have to let the Lestrange boy down. If some prefects ran across him and couldn’t get him down themselves, then they would have to fetch a professor, which would not do. How would she free the boys without making herself look weak? She couldn’t just let them go and hope that they would leave her be without another duel or without immediately running off to Tom. Yet, if she left him there then the professors would get involved and Dumbledore would probably take a peek into their minds to see just who cast the spell. Hermione’s cause would suffer if the professors discovered that she was a deviant on the first night.

Merlin, this was so much harder than Hermione had expected. Her emotions were dictating her life right now and she had to get them under control, otherwise, this will not be the last of her irrational decisions and next time could be far worse than just a few jinxes and hexes. Hermione had gotten used to fighting for her life, next time she could seriously injury a silly, little schoolboy who decided to come after her. While she wanted to justify what she had done by thinking about all of the terrible things that her victims had done in her timeline, she couldn’t take that view here. She was supposed to be changing things. Not everything had to play out exactly as it did before, if she did her job then there would be major changes to the timeline. She could stop some of the most heinous things she remembered from ever happening, which would prevent these boys from truly soiling their souls. She couldn’t deny that there was just something deep down inside her that loved that little show of power. She liked knocking those boys around and showing them that she was not a bitch to be messed with, no matter how fragile she may have looked on the cover of that gossip rag. She liked knowing that she was in control and there was nothing that they could do about it. If she hadn’t been so damn practical and instantly thought of the mission, she might have savored her punishment of the boys a bit more. Her magic was buzzing in contentment and she hadn’t blown up a wall yet, which meant that there was at least one good side to her little outburst. It seemed as though she needed to allow her magic to release some of its power to satiate it. While Hermione would have loved to delve a bit deeper into the nature of her new magic, she realized that she did have more pressing matters to attend to – the boys she had cursed in the hall.

Hermione knew that she had to listen to the rational side of her mind. She had to undo the _Levicorpus_ at the very least. She didn’t have to let the boys go entirely, she could still keep them bound, but it would have to be with spells that most prefects would know how to reverse. She wouldn’t apologize to the boys because that would be a sign of weakness. Depending on how crafty she wanted to get, she could formulate a message for one or both of them to get to Tom. She was unsure if she knew Tom well enough to craft the message personally. She probably only had five to ten minutes until the prefects that night finished their patrols and headed back to their dorms – that meant she had five to ten minutes until Orion and Reginus were discovered. No matter what she chose, she would have to act quickly. Although it was tempting to release the two boys as another show of power, there was much less possibility for delay if she just changed the spell on Reginus so he could easily be released. She wouldn’t obliviate either of them because she wanted Tom to see how his two chosen knights were so swiftly defeated. From the little information, she was able to obtain about Tom’s early life, she knew that he was a self-taught legilimens and he had begun learning before he graduated from Hogwarts. Seeing as Tom was entering his last year Hermione had to assume that Tom had already begun learning legilimency and would be able to scan his followers’ minds with little to no difficulty. Then all of a sudden, what she needed to do was abundantly clear. She grabbed a quill that was left on one of the common room tables and quickly got to work. Hopefully, this would be just what she needed to get Tom’s attention.

* * *

Fools. All of his followers were complete fools. He had planned everything out perfectly, all the two idiots had to do was follow the plan, and they couldn’t even do that. Hermione Black should be the one tied up and hexed right now but in the common room – not the hallway. Instead, Black and Lestrange were the ones captured and they had been placed where anyone could see them. The two boys should be thankful that Tom volunteered to patrol alone tonight so Olive Hornby could unsuccessfully try to get rid of Moaning Myrtle – all of the professors had tried and the best they could do was temporarily banish her to the girls’ bathroom where she had died. If Hornby had clung to Tom, like she did most nights they patrolled together after Myrtle was taken care of, then she would have seen the embarrassment in front of him. She would have seen what had resulted of Reginus and Orion and instantly reported it to all of her friends. Before he knew it, the entire school would be dismissing two of his Knights, two boys that Tom had dared to deign with his public friendship, and that simply would not do. Tom surrounded him by the best people, there were no idiots in the Knights of Walpurgis. Lestrange and Black were not idiots by any means, but their intellects did pale in comparison to many of the other members of his band of merry men. Tom knew that Lestrange and Black could be strong and that they were decently intelligent, but a public humiliation like this would not portray that image to the rest of the school and that was simply unacceptable.

Orion had been furious with Hermione, all of his thoughts had been consumed by the thoughts of her screaming in pain under his wand until she finally admitted what she was – a worthless fucking fake. It wasn’t until he saw a dark figure approaching that Orion truly realized the impact of what he had just allowed to happen. Odds were that the figure approaching was Tom, there was only a handful of Slytherins who might be out past curfew, and that number significantly dwindled considering that this was the first night back. If it was Tom approaching, he would untie Orion and Reginus, but that did not mean that he would let them both off the hook. Orion’s family had commented on how he had a bit of a cruel streak when he was angry, but Tom was downright ruthless. Tom was cruel all the time, Orion was convinced that the only time Tom truly smiled was when he was cursing someone. He wasn’t blind to social queues or normal people’s expressions, so it definitely didn’t slip by him when Tom took a half-second longer than anyone else to laugh or to smile. Tom was a master manipulator, but Orion had grown up around the Black family madness – he knew how to spot a psychopath. As the shadowy figure grew closer, Orion felt the pit in his stomach growing. He had watched Tom break every bone in Avery’s hand for simply speaking out of turn at a meeting. Orion and Reginus were unable to follow a direct order, Tom wouldn’t care about how strong the girl was. All Tom would care about was that two of his followers had been beaten, by a girl no less. Orion had a feeling that he would be lucky if he was able to go to classes for the next week after Tom was done with him.

Tom’s face was impassive as he looked at the ridiculous pair, Reginus swore that he saw Tom’s nostrils flare, but Orion knew that was a rookie move and Tom was better than that. The only outward sign of Tom’s anger was the slight clench of his jaw, which one could barely see in the middle of the day, much less the middle of the night. He moved his wand without saying a word, freeing the dunderheads and shrinking Orion’s head back to a somewhat normal size. Orion was smart enough, he knew that when Tom wasn’t speaking that he shouldn’t either. Tom was methodic. Tom didn’t do anything without a reason, so if he wasn’t speaking then he was worried about something.

Reginus was not as smart. He had recently joined the Knights and had not witnessed some of Tom’s more gruesome punishments – he had only witnessed the torture of a muggle and that had barely weighed on him because it was a fucking muggle. Reginus was not stuck on how Tom might choose to drain him of blood while breaking every bone in his right arm only to heal him and do it again, Reginus was focused on the little cunt who had cursed him without a second thought. He was Reginus Lestrange II, the next head of the House of Lestrange, he would not let a little girl curse him and get away with it. He planned on fucking her until he had his fill and then he would use her as his own personal test dummy for all the dark curses he had found in the family library – he usually tested them on muggles, but watching Hermione writhe in pain would be even better than listening to the muggles’ screams.

“I’m going to kill that fucking-“Reginus was cut off by Tom’s hand wrapping around his neck. Tom’s squeeze was so hard that Reginus’ vision went blotchy. He looked at Orion with wide eyes, pleading for some sort of help, but Orion was slowly creeping towards the portrait, making no move to interfere.

“Watch what you say _boy,_ we are in a public place and you are in no position to make threats. I gave you one simple task, which you failed to fulfill, so you are going to walk into the common room without another word. You will not attempt to engage anyone, if anyone speaks to you, you will ignore them. You are to go straight to the seventh-year dormitories, and I will hear your pitiful excuses there. Do you understand?”

Reginus nodded the best he could with the way Tom was grabbing him. When Tom released his neck, Reginus gasped for a few moments, trying to restore the air into his lungs, before he made his way to Tom’s dorm. He hadn’t been scared before, but he was terrified now. He had never felt so helpless in his life and for the first time he had seen the death behind Tom’s eyes – his eyes had been so cold and hard and for a moment Reginus swore that they had turned a bright red – like the devil was staring into his soul.

“Now, now Orion there will be no sneaking off for you. You and I are going to have a little chat in the common room before we go join your friend.”

Orion’s mouth was incredibly dry, and he didn’t think he would be able to speak even if he tried. He just bowed his head and followed Tom into the common room, wanting to be anywhere else at all. Tom sat in a plush green armchair and gestured for Orion to sit as well. Orion was preparing for the worst; he knew that Tom would barge into his mind any minute and he would not be gentle about it. Along with the shakes that Orion would surely have from the _Cruciatus_ the next few days, he would surely have migraines to match from Tom’s brutal invasion of his mind.

Tom was fingering his wand in his pocket, brainstorming fitting punishments as he scanned the room for any prying eyes. Luckily there did not seem to be another soul in sight so he was free to proceed as he wished, but then he noticed an emerald box on the table with his name written in gold script on the top. 


End file.
